When The Hammer Drops
by OkapiSeeks
Summary: After a tragic night on the job, Lassiter suffers some heavy consequences. With Juliet's help, along with Shawn & Gus, he tries to get his life back to normal. But sometimes bad experiences don't fade away. Sometimes they spiral out of control.  no slash
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. I do not own any of the characters of Psych and am not affiliated with the show or USA Network. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

When the Hammer Drops by Okapi

CHAPTER 1

The dark blue car was nearly hidden in the shadows of the suburban street. It was the deepest hour of night, before the turn to morning. To any cars passing by at that hour, which were very few, it appeared to belong to a resident of the neighborhood. On closer inspection, though, two figures could be seen within, which was a wholly unusual thing for such a place. People there just didn't sit in cars on the street overnight. But then, neither did they expect their houses to be ransacked by thieves. And it was exactly that occurrence that the two police detectives in the blue Crown Vic were hoping to prevent. All-night stakeouts, however, take a toll, and Detectives Lassiter and O'Hara were both feeling the effects. It didn't help that they'd been on duty most of the previous night in the process of making the final arrests in a big drug case. They'd been finishing their paperwork on that case and anticipating a much needed night off when the call had come in to the station. It was a strong tip on a rash of home invasions which they'd been working on for weeks. The leads had all grown cold on the case, so a new, promising tip was welcome in every way except for the timing.

Juliet O'Hara sighed and tried to stretch her legs again, which she was able to do well enough in the spacious vehicle. Still, she couldn't quite work out the kinks and discomfort that had more to do with lack of sleep and abundance of stress than they had to do with her seated position. She sighed again and glanced at her partner. Carlton Lassiter was sitting back with his head against the headrest, staring at the house they were watching with half-lidded eyes. He'd long ago thrown his tie and suit coat into the back seat. Juliet had always wondered if he was able to sleep with his eyes open on these long stakeouts, but she'd never been able to actually catch him at it. She reached for the thermos that was on the seat between them.

"It's empty," he said quietly without moving his head or even his gaze.

She sighed again, feeling a flash of irritation. It was getting to the worst part of an overnight stakeout for her. The hours between 4AM and 6AM were always the most uncomfortable, leaving her feeling frustrated, achy, slightly ill and wanting nothing more than to be home in her bed sleeping. If the coffee was gone already, the hours were only going to be harder to endure.

"I'm sorry," he said, still unmoving. "I drank more than usual. It's been a really long couple of days."

"No kidding," she said with exasperation, cursing the suburbs for their lack of all-night coffee shops within walking distance. "Next time I'll try to remember to bring two thermoses."

"And more snacks," he said. He finally moved, sitting up and reaching out for the steering wheel as he stretched his arms.

"That's your department," she quipped.

He cleared his throat and glanced at her quickly before looking away again. "Um, listen, O'Hara. There's something I've been meaning to ask you about."

She raised her eyebrows and turned slightly in her seat to look at him.

"It, uh, has to do with the Mallon case."

She wrinkled her nose, remembering the case involving a deadly virus and a doctor who had tried to release it on the public. She herself had been exposed, but hadn't contracted the virus, luckily. "What about it?" she asked apprehensively, wondering why he was bringing it up so seemingly at random.

"Well, I was thinking about the briefing," he said, glancing at her. He seemed uncomfortable. "You know, the briefing you ran."

She remembered the briefing. He had tried to give her advice on how to run it, but in standard Carlton Lassiter, Head Detective fashion, he had managed to sound fairly condescending in the process. And then he had proceeded to talk over her while she was trying to speak to the other officers. She'd been quite irritated by it at the time, but she was over it now. Apparently Lassiter wasn't. Her partner could be fairly obtuse when it came to his effect on other people, but he was getting better about it, and more aware of when he was doing it. She'd been his partner for long enough to know that his behavior sprang more from a lack of social awareness than from actual arrogance, and that his focus on the law and on doing his job well tended to crowd out his concern for social graces like tact and politeness. He was improving in those areas, though, and she liked to think that perhaps her influence had something to do with it. Still, sometimes, he could be a total ass, and she'd just learned to endure those times and move on. And for those instances she couldn't endure, she'd learned that she could get away with telling him to "shove it." If he deserved such a rebuke, he generally realized it at that point.

"Do I really come across as pompous when I run a briefing?" he asked quietly as he stared at the house, his voice was tinged with both curiosity and a hint of apprehension.

She sighed, afraid that the conversation wasn't going to have a pretty ending. "Carlton, why are you asking this?"

He sat back and put his head on the rest again. "I don't know. My mind was just wandering and I remembered feeling that, maybe, that's what you meant, that day, but I'd never gotten a chance to ask you," he said with a small shrug.

"Can we talk about it some other time?" she asked, desperately hoping to avoid the topic, especially when working on 3 hours of sleep in the past 48 hours.

"Now seems as good a time as any."

She thought for a moment and realized that maybe the quiet, alien hour of the morning and the lack of sleep could make the discussion more bearable rather than less, so she dove in. "Okay, Carlton, I don't want to make you feel bad. But, yes, sometimes you can come across to other people..." she said with an emphasis on "other" and a vague waving hand motion to indicate the rest of the world. "...as being a little...pompous."

Lassiter's face scrunched up with a look of confusion, but Juliet knew her partner well enough to see the hint of uncertainty and embarrassment in his expression as well. She also knew that when he felt that way, he would get defensive.

"Well, it's not my fault if people can't..." he began, but then he seemed to second-guess his words. "I mean, sometimes I feel like I know what needs to be done and so..." He stopped and sighed. "I...hell...I'm not trying to be that way. Not really. I mean, I want people to do what I say, when I know what I'm doing and when I know, you know, like I said, what needs to be done."

"I know! Carlton, I understand, really."

"Is that what being pompous is? I guess maybe I am pompous," he said with a pout.

"No, it's not really what pompous is. You're not trying to just promote yourself when you come across that way...usually," she added the last with a small cough, as if clearing her throat. "I know and the chief knows and anyone who has worked with you for a while knows that you're trying to do your job. That's your first priority. Not self-aggrandizement, even if that seems to be what you're doing, y'know, to people who don't know you as well." She stopped herself, feeling that she was slipping into rambling and growing uncertain that she was making her point.

He grimaced and shook his head, keeping his eyes fixed on the house. After a moment he spoke again, getting to the heart of the matter that was bothering him, she suspected. "Do you think I'm pompous?" he asked with a neutral voice.

She sighed, feeling the regret that the conversation was taking place that she'd anticipated. "I was a little irritated that you didn't let me lead the briefing that day. When you do things like that, I think you're a little insensitive. Not really pompous."

His eyebrows shot up and he turned to look at her finally. "But I let you lead that briefing!"

She looked at him with one eyebrow cocked.

He stared back for a moment, mouth still open in protest as the wheels turned. Then he closed his mouth and cleared his throat as his eyes slipped to the side. "Um, well, I guess I didn't quite...what's the term?"

"Step back?"

He squinted and nodded, eyes glued on the house again. "Right. I could've given you a bit more room. And not talked over you," he said, voice getting quieter as he spoke. "Well, I see that now, and I'm sorry."

She smiled and raised one shoulder in a half-shrug. "Don't worry about it, Carlton. It's water under the bridge."

He leaned back again and sighed heavily. They sat in silence for several long minutes, then Juliet glanced over and saw his brows knitted in consternation. She wondered for a moment what had brought on his sudden bout of introspection and self-evaluation. But then again, she'd been around him long enough to know that he had a streak of self-doubt that he buried deep under the bluster of his outward persona. It was in times like these, however, during all-night stakeouts or in the aftermath of tough, emotionally draining cases, that she'd caught glimpses of this tendency in him. She often wondered if she might be one of the only people who knew him well enough to see that side of him, besides perhaps his mother and his ex-wife. And maybe Hank.

She felt bad for his mood, but she didn't want to continue the prior conversation either. Then she remembered something and sat up straighter.

"Hey! Didn't you have a date with Lisa, the computer tech?"

He sat up straighter too and cleared his throat. His eyebrows rose and he seemed positive about the date, but there was also a hint of discomfort in his expression. "Um, yeah. Last week," he said, glancing at her only briefly before looking forward again.

She wondered why he seemed uncomfortable talking about it. They'd been able to discuss their dating habits easily enough for the past year or so, since his divorce was finalized. "Well? How did it go?"

He tilted his head and gave a half-shrug. "I think it went pretty well. She was very nice, easy to talk to," he said, then his brow furrowed. "Do you think she's a bit young for me?"

Juliet blinked and shook her head. "She's only six years younger than you, so, no, she's not too young. So what happened?"

"Well, uh," he cleared his throat again and sank down in his seat. "I think she implied that I was pompous."

"What? What makes you think that?" asked Juliet, shocked. She had talked to Lisa about the date before it happened, giving her some inside information about Lassiter in order to soften the blow in case he did something like telling her the dead clown story. Lisa had struck her as a woman with an easygoing manner and a dry and sometimes biting sense of humor, so she thought she might be a good match for Lassiter's black and white outlook on life and his occasionally sharp humor.

"She asked me if I was going to try out for the Thought Police."

"What?" Juliet repeated, aghast.

"Well, we'd been talking about police powers, surveillance, you know, the use of traffic cameras and things like that. I think she's not very happy with how common public surveillance devices are becoming," he said, then he gave another half-shrug. "I came down on the more positive side of that topic. I mean, security and traffic cameras have helped us catch a lot of bad guys."

Juliet sighed and shook her head. "Wow, that's kind of a deep subject to get into on a first date."

He nodded. "Yeah, I'm not sure how it came up. We were talking and joking around and then it just turned into that discussion. I guess I came across as heavy-handed. I mean, we talked about other things and still had a nice date. So it wasn't like she went to the bathroom and never returned or anything like that," he said with a grimace. Then his expression turned wistful. "It just had me wondering."

She understood now why he'd brought up the topic of the briefing and whether or not people viewed him as pompous. It was something that he'd probably been worrying about since the date. He looked faintly disappointed at the memory of the discussion with Lisa, and she got the sense that he'd really enjoyed the date until that point. She felt bad again and made a mental note to discuss it with Lisa. Maybe she'd misunderstood Lassiter's point of view. She would get her take on the date and encourage her to consider trying again. She sighed and sat back, feeling the small rush of alertness from their conversation leaving her too quickly.

"I wish there was a coffee shop nearby," she said mournfully.

He grunted. "Suburbs. Talk about Thought Police. I think there are community association laws preventing people from being outdoors past 9PM or something," he said dryly.

She snorted and smiled. "I wonder if we'll see the grass-length police come by when it gets light out."

"Probably right after the door-color patrol," he replied. She could see a small smile appear briefly on his lips, but then he sighed and rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands. "God I'm tired."

"Me too."

"The guy said tonight, right?" he asked. "It's not going to be 'night' much longer. I was really hoping this wasn't a crap lead."

"Me too," she repeated tiredly.

The caller had refused to leave a name and had only said that the "guys" committing the home invasions were going to hit again "sometime tonight." He'd given the address and had then hung up. They'd done some quick research and had found that the house in question was currently vacant, with the owner, a Mr. Ted Sommer, on an extended, month-long vacation. They'd tried to call him but had only gotten through to voicemail on his cell phone. The lead seemed really solid because the house had recently undergone some extensive contractor work while the owner was absent. They'd been suspecting the burglars were getting their information about and access to their targets through a contractor, either as workers or on the supplier-side, because all of the recent burglaries had happened to houses that had been renovated.

Unfortunately, they hadn't been able to narrow down the suspect list much beyond anyone involved in the renovations, because for most of the houses, the renovations were extensive and involved several types of contractors. None of the contractors were consistent across all of the burglaries, so the burglars were either getting information through a materials supplier or were day laborers. They had just been digging into those areas when their investigation had been put on the back burner in order to finish up the drug case they'd just wrapped.

"Well, maybe we can go home and sleep soon, at least," she said dreamily.

Lassiter just grunted. They sat in silence for another fifteen minutes, both getting dangerously close to the head-nodding stage, when something finally happened. A black, late-model pickup truck cruised slowly through the neighborhood, slowing as it passed the Sommer house. Juliet felt the shock of tension shoot through her body at the sight of it and could see Lassiter also jerk into full alertness beside her. When the truck neared, they both scooted down in their seats so they wouldn't be visible to it. Lassiter stared at the truck after it passed, then he turned back to her. Their eyes met, mirrors of pent-up anxiety and the excitement of a sudden adrenaline rush.

"Should I call it in?" she asked in a whisper, although there was no real reason for speaking quietly.

"Not yet," he said, watching as the truck turned a corner. He pulled out a notebook and wrote down the truck's license plate number. "Let's see if they make another pass first."

They waited another few minutes, the air in the car feeling suddenly electric. Then from the far end of the street the truck reappeared. Almost simultaneously, Juliet and Lassiter pulled out their weapons and checked them.

"Let's see how they set this up," said Lassiter, putting his gun back in his shoulder holster. They watched as the truck pulled to the curb five houses up from the Sommer house. Two men dressed in dark colored clothing got out and walked along the sidewalk with heads bowed and hands in their pockets. One of the men was wearing a ball cap with the brim pulled low and the other had a hooded sweatshirt on with the hood up. They glanced around suspiciously as they walked up to the Sommer house. After a moment, one of the men smashed out the window in the front door and reached inside, eventually getting it unlocked and open, then they both disappeared into the house.

Lassiter nodded at Juliet. "Make the call."

Juliet keyed up the handset and called the station for backup, giving the license plate number and describing the two men and saying that they had entered the residence. As she was talking, she could see faint flashes of light in the house as the men moved through it with flashlights. Lassiter shrugged off his shoulder holster and reached into the backseat for their vests, which he'd kept handy, just in case. He handed Juliet hers as she finished the call to the station, then he started to awkwardly put his on in the confines of the car.

"Backup will be here in ten minutes," she said.

He grimaced as he finished fastening his vest. "Okay, I'm going to go across now to cover the back yard."

"Right," she said, shrugging on her own vest.

Suddenly another car appeared driving up the street. Juliet and Lassiter exchanged a concerned look as the car reached the Sommer house and pulled into the driveway.

"Who the hell is that?" hissed Lassiter, slipping into the unnecessary whisper like Juliet had done.

"Accomplice?" asked Juliet with a confused shrug.

"What, he's just late to work tonight?"

They watched as a man got out of the car and walked up to the front door. Then he seemed to notice the broken window and took a step back for a moment, looking up and down the street.

"Holy crap, is that the owner?" asked Lassiter, aghast at the prospect. "I thought he was still out of town!"

"He shows up now?" breathed Juliet struggling to comprehend the horrible timing and with a dawning look of horror. "Oh my god, he's going inside!" She was thunderstruck that someone would notice a broken window in their dark house in the wee hours of the morning and would go on inside instead of walking away and calling the police.

Lassiter threw open his door and lunged out of the car. Juliet grabbed the radio handset and called in to the station again with a hasty update. She knew she sounded at least half-panicked because she was feeling the throes of full panic. When she finished she tossed the handset aside and jumped out. She ran around the front of the car and started to sprint after her partner who was already running up to the front door of the house. _Wait for me, Carlton. Wait!_ She felt her heart pounding against the inside of her ballistics vest.

oOoOoOoO

Lassiter crouched down by the front door that was sitting half-open, gun raised, peering into the darkened house as he tried to catch his breath. He could see Juliet just exiting the car, realizing she'd fallen behind because she had probably called in the new development. Smart, as usual, his partner. But now they had to deal with the situation on their own because backup wasn't going to arrive in time to help them with the shitstorm they'd just stumbled into. He could hardly believe the colossal bad luck at the owner returning, right at this moment, if indeed that's who the man was. It felt like a bad dream, and he kept hoping he'd wake up to O'Hara poking him and scolding him for falling asleep on their watch. He squinted, trying to make out what he could in the dark interior, but the door was only partly open and nothing was visible from that vantage. He was starting to wonder why the owner hadn't turned on a light inside when a sudden glare bloomed as the man apparently did just that. The light seemed abnormally bright after a whole night of sitting in the dark. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Juliet still running up the street. Voices flared just moments after the light, a chaotic mixture of angry questioning and bellowed threats. And then there was a gunshot. He felt the sound of it go through him as if it was a bullet itself, leaving a searing pain in his chest that made him gasp. _No, no, no, no!_ He forgot about waiting for his partner and shouldered his way into the house.

The front door opened onto a hallway that seemed to stretch to the back of the house. Three doors were on the right side leading to rooms off of the hall. Immediately to his left was a wide opening into the living room that was still mostly dark, with the light coming from the room beyond which appeared to be the kitchen and dining area. Lassiter felt glass crunch under his shoe as he stepped through the door. The acrid smell of gunpowder was strong. He moved to the left, into the living room, and saw the man lying in the arched opening that led to the kitchen, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. There was movement beyond the body. A dark figure was rushing across the kitchen area, heading for the open sliding glass door that led to the back yard. Another man was standing near the body, looking down at it. He was wearing a baseball cap with a snake logo, and he was holding a gun.

"Freeze, SBPD! Put down that weapon!" yelled Lassiter.

The man jerked and turned towards the back door without looking up.

"Stop!" bellowed Lassiter, taking a few steps forward.

The man continued towards the sliding glass door, but before he ran out he raised his arm and fired a blind shot behind him. Lassiter saw what he was going to do and threw himself to the floor. The man disappeared into the darkness beyond the door. Lassiter jumped to his feet again, running past the body and into the kitchen. He rushed to the open door but could see no sign of the two men in the yard anymore. There were several other yards that were adjoined, and none of them had fences, so the men could've veered off in any direction. Lassiter felt a tightness in his chest as he backed away from the door again. If he could've just moved into the house a moment sooner, the shooting may not have happened. He heard a sound behind him and assumed it was Juliet coming into the house, but when he turned back to the room he saw a flash of movement to his left, coming from the back end of the hallway that also opened onto the kitchen. He raised his gun and looked through the kitchen opening to the room across the hallway, which appeared to be some kind of bedroom or study. It was still darkened, and the figure standing in its doorway was shadowed, but he could tell that the person was holding a gun on him. His throat felt suddenly dry as bone.

"SBPD," he rasped. "Lower your weapon."

The figure shifted on his feet, fidgeting nervously. "I just wanna get out of here," came a soft voice.

"Put your weapon down," repeated Lassiter.

"Just let me out."

Something bothered him about the voice. He was pretty sure the person wasn't a woman, but the voice was somehow off. "I can't let you go," he said.

"I'm not putting down this gun. He told me not to listen to cops. Just let me go."

Lassiter started to get a sinking feeling in his stomach as he listened to the pitch of the voice and realized what he'd been fearing. "Step towards me."

"Are you going to let me out?" he said as he stepped into the hallway, the light from the kitchen finally illuminating his face.

Lassiter's stomach twisted. He was just a kid, probably no more than fifteen years old, although he was tall for his age. And he was still holding his gun on Lassiter. "Listen, you need to put that gun down," he said, trying to modulate his voice to sound less rough.

The kid looked like he was going to jump out of his skin with panic. He was sweating and his eyes were wide and wild-looking, like a cornered animal. His eyes were also bloodshot and glazed over which meant he was either high or drunk. Lassiter felt on the verge of panic himself, suddenly. He'd faced so many bad guys over the years, wielding guns and knives and other things, but he'd never faced down a young kid scared out of his mind.

"Dammit, kid, listen to me. You have to lower that gun. Put it on the ground. Please," he said, adding the last with a slight break in his voice.

"He said never listen to cops," said the kid louder, a whine to the edge of his voice as he almost danced from foot to foot in his agitation. "I just need to get out of here."

Lassiter could see tears in the kid's eyes now. For a moment he wasn't sure what to do. He almost considered lowering his weapon to ease the kid's mind, but then he caught movement to his right and saw Juliet coming through the front door. She had her gun raised, aiming it down the hallway. Lassiter could tell that the kid hadn't noticed his partner yet. He didn't know how to signal her to stay back without alerting the kid, though. He could see that any spark was going to set him off, and he'd fire. He was dead certain of that. Lassiter suddenly felt like he was stuck in one of those dream hallways where he needed to reach the door at the end but the hallway kept stretching, the door forever out of reach. He wished he could wake up.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Juliet stop just inside the front door. He saw the kid changing his grip on the gun, his finger moving to the trigger, his breathing coming out in ragged gasps. He heard the sirens finally approaching and saw the kid look towards the sound, towards the front door, towards his partner. He saw the kid swing the gun around to aim it at her, finger on the trigger, arms tensing as he started to squeeze, and as he did so he also squeezed his eyes shut. Lassiter didn't hear himself yelling, but he felt his gun kick back when he fired. The kid's face registered shock and dismay as he pitched forward to the ground. Lassiter's vision seemed to tunnel for a moment, everything went black except for the image of the kid lying on the ground, eyes wide and mouth gaping. He looked so damned young and lost and frightened. Lassiter ran to his side and dropped to his knees, hardly realizing that he had let his weapon fall to the floor. He rolled the kid onto his back and saw the red stain spreading quickly across his chest. The bullet had gone in the right side of his torso. Lassiter put his hands over the wound, trying to stem the bleeding. The kid was pulling in sharp, painful gasps of air and looking around, confused. Finally, his eyes fell on Lassiter. He coughed wetly, and blood started to trickle from the corner of his mouth.

"God it hurts," he hissed, then coughed again.

"Hang on, we'll get you help," said Lassiter, pushing against the wound and feeling the blood pouring out. Too much blood. He suddenly felt like he couldn't breathe anymore either.

"Tell mom I'm sorry," he choked out. "I'm sorry we left."

"Just hang on," he said again. He stared at his hands, willing them to stop the bleeding, only peripherally noticing how his vision started to swim. Then he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Carlton," said Juliet.

"Is an ambulance here?" he asked, voice strained.

"Carlton, I think he's gone."

Lassiter looked at the kid's face again and saw that his eyes were blank, eyelids slipped halfway closed. His breath rushed out in a huff. "God damn it," he hissed. "Sonofabitch."

He drew in another breath and felt suddenly sick. He stood up quickly and backed away from the kid's body, turning and taking several steps into the kitchen. He was abruptly aware of voices and noise as other officers moved around the house. Then paramedics entered to check the two corpses. Lassiter looked over at the body of the man who owned the house. Ted Sommer, he remembered. He glanced back at the kid's body. Two dead bodies. They were staking out the house the whole night and it ended up with two dead bodies in it. He felt himself start to sway and dropped to a crouch, resting his forearms on his knees and lowering his head. He wondered for a moment if he was going to pass out. _What the hell went so wrong? How did I get this so wrong?_ He started to put his head in his hands but then he noticed how they were soaked in the kid's blood. He dropped from the crouch onto his rear end and sat for a moment, staring at the shining red coating on his hands.

"Carlton!" Juliet's hands were on his shoulders again. Both shoulders. She was crouched down in front of him. "Carlton, listen to me."

He tried to tear his eyes away from his hands, but somehow he couldn't. "What went wrong?" he asked quietly.

"Look at me," said Juliet. His eyes finally found her face. "You did everything you could."

"I killed a child, O'Hara."

"That child had a gun, Carlton. He fired it at me! You did what you had to do."

Lassiter stared at her, confused. He didn't remember the kid firing the weapon. "He fired?"

Juliet's expression was growing more and more concerned. Somehow, he understood that he was acting strangely, but he couldn't figure out how to stop. It was like the world had shifted to a different speed around him, and he was detached from it now, drifting. He saw Juliet give one of the paramedics a small wave before she turned back to him.

"Are you hurt?"

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath in through his nose, almost choking on the suddenly overwhelming smell of blood. He swallowed hard. "No," he said thickly.

"I just want them to check you out."

He felt a sudden, unexpected surge of irritation that seemed to thankfully clear some of the cobwebs. "I'm fine, O'Hara. I don't need to be checked out." His words came out more harshly than he'd meant, and he caught the increased look of concern on Juliet's face when he looked at her again. He cleared his throat. "I'm just...I'm fine. I'm not hurt."

"Okay, Carlton. Take your time," she said, not looking at all reassured.

He blinked and looked around, realizing that some of the other officers were also looking at him with curiosity and concern. _Shit, I need to get off my ass and start acting normal_. He wanted to rub his eyes which felt dry and sticky, but his hands were so completely coated in blood he could only hold them out as if he were offering them up in supplication, as if he were asking for forgiveness. The thought sent a tingle down his spine and made his stomach twist. He lunged to his feet, almost knocking Juliet over in the process.

"I need to wash my hands," he said through clenched teeth. He turned towards the kitchen sink but was stopped by her hand on his arm.

"You can't use the sink, Carlton. Here," she said as the paramedic approached and handed her a towel. She put the towel in his hands. He noticed her grimace as she looked at them and wondered if her look was one of pity or disgust.

"Are you hurt, sir?" asked the paramedic, looking intently at Lassiter's face. "Can I examine you?"

Lassiter suddenly felt cornered by the attention of the paramedic and his partner. "No, I'm fine," he growled, rubbing his hands roughly with the dry towel. It wasn't getting them clean, which sparked his anger. "I just want to wash my hands, god dammit."

Juliet and the medic exchanged a look, which made his anger flare even more. He seemed to be somehow digging a hole for himself the more he spoke, so he decided to try an escape instead. His face fell into a black scowl as he shouldered his way past Juliet and the medic. Sidestepping the owner's body and anyone who got in his way, he stalked out of the house.

oOoOoOoO

Juliet was fighting to keep from trembling too badly, but the adrenaline wearing off combined with Lassiter's reaction to the whole experience were conspiring against her. She was cold and tired and worried and completely unhappy. She could feel sweat soaking her shirt underneath her ballistics vest, so she pulled the vest off hoping to alleviate at least that one small discomfort. The stakeout had gone so much more terribly wrong than she ever would've imagined, but she knew that they really couldn't have done much, if anything, differently. She sighed as she watched her partner leave the house. He was not in good shape, clearly, and it frightened her. She wasn't sure if it was just that the boy he'd shot was so young, or the fact that the owner had also been killed while on their watch. One or both of those things, though, had affected him much more than she'd ever seen him affected after a violent scene on the job. She glanced at the paramedic who was still standing nearby.

"Are you okay, detective?" he asked when he saw her look.

"Yes, I'm fine. Do you have a bottle of water?"

He dug around in his bag and pulled out a bottle of drinking water. "Here," he said, and then he gave her a sympathetic look. "He's your partner, right? I think he'll be fine. Sometimes, after a bad scene like this one, people can suffer an acute stress response. It might take a few days for him to get back to normal. Just, you know, be there for him."

She blinked and nodded, considering his words. "Okay," she said, then she managed a small smile. "Thank you." She headed out of the house to find her partner.

Lassiter was standing in the middle of the yard with his back to the house, rubbing furiously at his fingers with the towel. He had taken off his vest and thrown it aside. She could see that his shirt was soaked with sweat. As she approached, she noticed that he was shaking all over and not just from the exertion of scrubbing his hands.

"Carlton," she called as she walked towards him.

He jerked violently and spun to face her. The towel dropped from his hands and his right hand moved to where his shoulder holster would be normally. He looked down, almost seeming confused about his holster being gone, and then he dropped his hand quickly and gave her an embarrassed glance. He cleared his throat and bent over to pick up the towel he'd dropped when he had startled. His face fell into a frown.

"I'm sorry," she said as she stepped up to him. "Here. Maybe this can help wash your hands a little." She opened the bottle of water and looked at him.

"Thanks," he said gruffly. His expression was so unusual, she kept looking at him for an extra few moments trying to figure it out. Fury, guilt, fear, utter despair. He looked lost. Her heart broke at the thought of her steadfast partner suffering in such a way. But she was determined that he wouldn't feel lost for long. She'd make sure of that. She poured some water into his cupped hands and watched as he tried to wash off the blood. He seemed so desperate to get it all off. "I'm sorry, Carlton, that this happened. Maybe if I had been able to follow you faster to the house, or if I hadn't walked in while you were facing off with the boy."

Lassiter put some of the water on the towel and continued to clean his hands, but his brow furrowed deeply. "It wasn't you, O'Hara. You were right to call it in," he said sadly, glaring at his fingers. "I was at the house, before they killed that man. I should've gone inside immediately."

"That's not procedure, though. You had to wait for me."

He grimaced and shook his head. "I was right there. I should've stopped it."

"We were both right here, and we did the best we could. It all happened too fast. And it was just ridiculously bad luck that Sommer came home when he did."

He was scrubbing so hard that she was afraid he was going to start scraping the skin off of his hands. She tried to reach out to touch his arm, but he pulled away. He gave her a desolate look and held up the bloody towel, brandishing it as if it was a damning piece of evidence.

"That kid didn't have to die like that," he said hoarsely. "He was scared."

"Carlton, he had a gun. He fired it at me."

"He closed his eyes," he said quietly, staring into the darkness of his recollection. Then he blinked as if coming back to the moment and looked at her. "He fired the gun? I don't remember that."

Juliet shrugged. "Maybe he fired at the same time you did. I saw him turn to me. I dove to the floor and saw the flash from his gun. I was aiming to fire when you shot him, Carlton."

Lassiter looked lost again, glancing around at all of the emergency vehicles and commotion as if he'd just woken from a dream. He dropped his gaze back to his hands and the bloody towel that he was nervously turning over and over. He regarded it for a moment, a look of shame and disgust crossing his face, then he threw it to the ground. "I should've stopped it."

"You did the best you could."

"It wasn't good enough."

Juliet shivered and crossed her arms tightly across her chest. "It has to be," she said sadly.

He flashed an angry look at her, light from the house catching the fire in his blue eyes. "Not for me."

She wanted to go up to him and give him a hug, but she could tell he wouldn't accept one from her. Not yet. She was also feeling the strain of the evening more intensely with each passing moment, shivering with exhaustion and wanting only to get somewhere warm where she could sit down or even take a nap. She knew they still had an ordeal ahead of them at the station, and she wasn't looking forward to it, at all. Reports to deliver, endless questions to answer, a standard follow-up investigation that was going to be hard to bear. A flash of anxiety hit her, thinking about how Lassiter was going to endure all of those things. But it was going to happen, regardless, so they'd have to deal with it. She walked over and placed a tentative hand on his arm.

"Come back inside for a minute," she said. "I'll hand things off to Dobson, then we can go back to the station."

"I'm fine here," he said. He shifted his feet and crossed his arms tightly. "I'll wait here."

She sighed. "Okay."

She went inside and explained the situation to Dobson. He told her the chief had already been called and would be waiting for them. He also said the chief had instructed a uniformed officer to drive her and Lassiter to the station. She was confused, but he just looked at her sympathetically and told her it had been a long night and they should take the ride. When she walked back outside she saw Buzz coming up the sidewalk. He gave her a small, tentative smile and wave, then he shot a concerned glance at Lassiter.

"Hi, Buzz," said Juliet, hugging herself against another bout of trembling. She realized now why the chief had ordered someone to drive them back. Neither one of them was in condition to be driving a car.

"Hi. We can go whenever you're ready."

"Go where?" asked Lassiter, apparently just noticing Buzz's presence.

"I'm going to drive you and Detective O'Hara back to the station," said Buzz.

Lassiter glared at them.

"Carlton, we're in no shape to drive. Let's get back to the station so we can clean up and get some coffee."

At the phrase "clean up," Lassiter looked down at his hands and arms as if he thought she was criticizing his appearance. Then he looked back at the house and said, "I left my gun inside."

"They'll take care of it. They need it for the investigation," she reminded him, feeling a small stab of worry that she needed to tell him that at all.

He blinked and looked at her, then looked quickly away again towards the flashing lights on Buzz's squad car. "Okay. Right."

She sighed and squeezed her crossed-arms more tightly. Suddenly a jacket was thrown around her shoulders. She turned and saw Buzz's shy smile as he stepped back again.

"Thanks, Buzz."

"No problem. Are you ready?"

She nodded and watched as Lassiter seemed to finally realize that being anywhere else would be better than staying at that house. His shoulders slumped and he trudged to Buzz's squad car. They followed in his wake.


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

Juliet leaned her elbows on the interrogation table and rested her forehead in her palms. She felt like she'd been awake for a week, which was closer to accurate than she liked to think. She just hoped the headache currently splitting her skull would go away after a few handfuls of ibuprofen and a real amount of sleep.

"We're almost done here, detective," said Detective Robson with an almost-conciliatory tone. "We just need to review your statement and have you sign it."

She put her hands down and nodded tiredly. "Fine."

She'd been talking to the Internal Affairs detective for almost two hours now. It had been so much harder to endure than she'd anticipated, and that was including the fact that Robson had been relatively pleasant and accommodating. He was Ocampo's replacement in the IA Division, Ocampo's ambition having paid off in a higher-ranked position, but he was thankfully not cut from the same cloth as the other detective. He seemed genuinely concerned about getting all of the facts straight about the shooting, rather than just how he could dig up dirt to implicate her or Lassiter. He was still a bit too thorough for her tastes, though, or at least for the tolerance levels of her exhausted self. When he had, early in the interview, gone down the road of bringing up Lassiter's divorce and his record of discharging his weapon on the job, she hadn't been able to keep up her facade of politeness. Her brain was really starting to get fuzzy, but she was pretty sure she had actually said "Oh, don't go there" to him. Luckily, he'd taken her response in stride and had from that point focused mostly on her part in the shooting.

They'd taken a break about halfway through the interview and she'd gone to splash some water on her face and get some coffee. The chief had come out of her office to get coffee for Lassiter and to give her a quick pep talk, too. Since they'd gotten back to the station, Lassiter had been sequestered in the chief's office, delivering his report directly to her. The chief had taken one look at him upon their arrival and had gone into mother-hen-overdrive. When IA had arrived, the chief had allowed them to speak to Juliet in one of the interrogation rooms, but she had told them they'd need to wait to interview Lassiter for at least a day, until he could get some sleep. She'd taken the initial incident report from him and was going to send him home to rest.

Robson pushed a form across the table to her. "Read this over, please, and sign it if you have no changes to make."

Juliet squinted at the form, not happy with how the words kept swimming on the page. She fought to focus on the statement to be sure it covered everything clearly, then she sighed and signed it. At least now maybe she'd get to go home and sleep. She knew that the ordeal wasn't over, yet, with the thrashing the department was going to take in the press, but she couldn't worry about that until she had some rest.

There was a knock on the door, and then Chief Vick entered. "Are you finishing up?" she asked, looking intently at Juliet. She'd been hovering protectively during the whole interview, making sure Robson didn't badger her too badly and apparently giving Lassiter plenty of breaks from delivering his report in the process.

"Yes, Chief," said Robson as he scribbled some more endless notes in his notebook. "I need to have Detective O'Hara do one or two more things, then she'll be free to go. After that I'd like to make a few calls. If you don't mind, I'll just keep using this room for that?"

The chief nodded and gave Juliet an encouraging look. "That'll be fine. Thank you, detective. We can talk about Detective Lassiter's interview time when you're ready. I've taken his report and will be sending him home in a few minutes."

"Fine," said Robson, still diligently scribbling.

Juliet gazed back and forth between the two of them, leaning heavily on the table and feeling herself start to zone out.

"I'll have someone drive you home as well, Detective O'Hara, when you're finished."

Juliet nodded. "Thank you, Chief."

"Just stop by my office when you're done," said the chief as she turned and left the room.

Juliet stared blankly at Robson as he finished some scribbles and began to speak again. She had to struggle to focus on his words instead of on the constant drone of "sleep" that seemed to be the only coherent thought her brain could dredge up anymore.

oOoOoOoO

"So the chief didn't call us?" asked Gus as they neared the police station.

Shawn shook his head as he fiddled with his cell phone. "No, but I'm sure there's something happening at the station this morning. See?" he said as he held up the phone in front of Gus's face.

Gus swiped at Shawn's hand. "Shawn! I'm trying to drive. What are you doing?" 

"I got this sweet new app for my phone. It's a police scanner, and it started going off like crazy last night. So, I figure there must be something really big going down at the station."

"What is it?"

Shawn shrugged. "I don't know."

Gus glanced at him quickly before returning his eyes to the road. "What do you mean you don't know? You didn't listen to the scanner while it was going off?" He entered the SBPD parking lot and pulled into a space.

"No, I was watching _Beastmaster_, and then I fell asleep and dreamt of owning helpful ferret companions," said Shawn as he unbuckled and climbed out of the car.

Gus sighed and shook his head as he got out.

As they started to walk up to the main doors of the station, Shawn looked at him and donned an indignant expression. "Seriously, man. I don't understand how ferrets aren't categorized as service animals. Did you see all the things they do for Dar?"

"Shawn, it's just a movie. A bad movie."

"Don't dis the _Beastmaster_, Gus."

"And anyway, you don't qualify for a service animal. You need to have a disability," said Gus dryly as he opened the door to the station and waited for Shawn to enter.

Shawn pursed his lips as he walked past his friend. "You are just rocking the negativity today, buddy."

Gus raised his eyebrows. "I'm being negative pointing out that you are of sound mind and body?"

"Yes, you are. You are saying I am not disabled. Not is a negative."

"Fine. Setting that aside for a moment, what if there isn't anything actually going on here today? Or what if the chief doesn't need us for whatever it is?"

"I figured we can also see if there's any news about Mrs. North's sons," said Shawn, looking around the bullpen as they made their way towards the chief's office.

A Mrs. Gina North and her brother Bill Carcillo had visited the Psych office three days earlier requesting help locating North's two teenaged sons. She had explained that she didn't believe in psychics but needed any help she could get. Five years earlier, her ex-husband had kidnapped her sons, when they were 9 and 13, and ever since then she'd been searching for them and tracking down any leads she could find, no matter how slim. She'd received an anonymous phone call that her boys were in Santa Barbara, but had gotten no other information from the caller. So, she'd flown to Santa Barbara from her home in New Mexico and had started yet another hopeless search. Shawn and Gus had taken her information and had checked in at the station about the case, but there wasn't enough to go on. She had already visited the station too, and all they could say was they'd keep their eyes out for the boys.

Shawn paused for a moment after entering to take in the scene at the station. There was certainly a lot of activity, but Shawn couldn't tell yet what it was about. Officers and other personnel were rushing around, but there was no sign of Juliet or Lassiter. He didn't even see Buzz hanging around. He marched on up to the chief's office with Gus in his wake and stopped short when he looked through the partially opened blinds.

"Dude, is that Lassie?"

Gus peered through the blinds. "Yes, that's Lassie."

"But what happened to him? It looks like he was on an all-night bender."

Shawn stared through the glass at the head detective who was sitting in a chair at the chief's desk with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. The chief wasn't in the office, and Shawn wondered why Lassie would be sitting in there alone instead of at his own desk. Noticing his unkempt hair, the stubble on his jaw and the rumpled, untucked shirt, Shawn realized that at the very least Lassiter had been up all night and hadn't been home to clean up. Shawn squinted and noticed also that Lassiter's shirt sleeves seemed smudged or stained with something, and they looked wrinkled like they had been wet and then had dried while rolled up. Shawn hadn't seen Lassie look this bad since he'd been suspected of murder and suspended. He pursed his lips, wondering what the detective had been doing. And because he'd never been one to resist tapping on the glass of fish tanks or animal cages, even when told explicitly not to do so, he knocked on the glass window of the office.

Lassiter lunged to his feet and spun around, listing dangerously as he did so, as if his balance was impaired. He reached for a gun that wasn't there because the holster was also not there. Shawn raised his eyebrows and took a step back from the glass, surprised at the violence of Lassie's reaction. He looked at Gus who returned the look of surprise. They both looked again into the office to see Lassiter's glare as he realized who had knocked. But, shockingly, Lassiter's face dropped from the glare into a weary look of despair as he turned his back to them and nearly fell into his seat, rubbing tiredly at his face. Shawn had a perverse impulse to knock on the window once more to see if Lassie would be startled again, but he was stopped by the sound of familiar footsteps.

"Mr. Spencer. What are you doing?"

They turned to face Chief Vick. "Hi, Chief. We were just stopping by to see if we can be of any help," said Shawn as he put his hand to his temple. "The spirits have been absolutely raking this morning."

"I think you mean raucous, Shawn," said Gus as the chief's brow furrowed in confusion.

"Racketeering?"said Shawn.

"Making a racket?" said Gus.

"Gentlemen, please. I don't have time for this today. We've had a major incident take place this morning that I need to deal with," she said as she stepped to her door. "So please just leave."

"Don't you need our help, Chief?" asked Shawn, hoping to get at least a little more information about what was going on before being shuffled off.

"No, Mr. Spencer, I do not," she said. She opened her office door and turned to enter as a hint that she was finished talking to them.

Shawn had also never been one to take hints easily. "But the spirits have told me that Detective Lassiter has been involved in a shooting, and there are complications," said Shawn, putting together the fact that Lassie didn't have his gun with the fact that he was Lassie and making the intuitive leap that he'd had to surrender his weapon because he'd been in a firefight. "Did he actually shoot someone this time, or do you need our help clearing him from another frame job?"

Chief Vick turned back to Shawn with an expression of outrage on her face, but before she could vocalize it, there was a blur of rumpled white dress shirt as Lassiter barreled out of the office. He grabbed the front of Shawn's shirt with both hands and pushed him backwards into a pillar.

"The spirits had better start telling you to keep your nose out of police business," growled Lassiter. He was looming over Shawn, still pushing him into the pillar with fists balled up in the front of his shirt. Shawn could see that his eyes were bloodshot and red-rimmed, almost as if he'd been crying. _Lassie __crying?_ He couldn't picture it.

"Detective! Stand down!" bellowed Vick.

Lassiter released Shawn and stepped back. "Just stay the hell away from me," he said, though his voice had grown quiet and more tired sounding than angry. His shoulders slumped and his eyes lost their glaring fire quickly again, as they had after the knock on the office window. He was no longer focusing on Shawn and seemed to be staring at nothing, but a nothing that disturbed him. Shawn felt a shiver run down his spine at the detective's odd behavior.

"Holy crap, Lassie," said Shawn, feeling more shocked at the detective's reaction and general condition than he felt anger at his treatment. "I was just asking if I could help."

Vick shot a warning glare at Shawn and then said to Lassiter, "We're done, for now, detective. I've asked McNab to drive you home. He'll be here in a few minutes."

Lassiter just turned away and trudged to his desk. He stood for a moment by his chair, staring at it as if he didn't know what it was for, then he pivoted and walked slowly down the hallway towards the bathroom. Shawn watched him for a moment, still leaning back against the pillar, then he turned back to see Vick and Gus both watching Lassiter with expressions of concern and confusion respectively. Chief Vick shook her head sadly, then she met Shawn's questioning look.

"Shawn," said Vick with an expression of helplessness. "I will call you if I need you, but for right now I really think it's best if you leave."

Shawn nodded, but then someone beyond the chief caught his eye. He saw Mrs. North, the woman who had come to the Psych office three days earlier asking for help locating her sons. She was just entering the station with her brother who was supporting her with one hand under her elbow while his other arm was wrapped around her shoulders. She had a look of devastation on her face. Shawn felt a tightness in his chest as his brain started to put pieces together. Something was telling him Mrs. North's arrival wasn't coincidence.

"Chief," said Shawn quietly, tearing his eyes away from the distraught Mrs. North to look at the chief, dreading the question he had to ask. "What happened? Who was shot?"

Chief Vick pursed her lips and looked from Gus to Shawn. Then she sighed. "I can't go into details," she said. "But I can tell you as much as we tell the press. Detectives responding to a home invasion found the owner shot dead by the burglars. The detectives engaged the burglars, shots were exchanged, and a fourteen year old boy was also shot and killed."

Shawn jaw dropped and he and stared at Vick as the puzzle pieces fell terribly into place.

Gus's eyes widened. "Lassie shot a fourteen year old kid?" he asked in a horrified whisper.

A look of agony crossed Vick's face. Shawn put a hand out to grab Gus's arm. "That's not the worst of it, Gus," he said as he pointed at Mrs. North. Gus looked at her and then back at Shawn.

"Oh my god, Shawn."

Chief Vick looked at Mrs. North and then back at the two of them. "Do you two have some kind of information here that I'm missing? Wait, don't tell me yet. Come in here," she said as she stepped into her office. Shawn and Gus followed her inside, although they left the door open.

"Chief, that woman out there is named Mrs. Gina North. She came to our office the other day asking for help in finding her two sons. Her husband kidnapped them five years ago and they all disappeared. She got an anonymous call that they were here in Santa Barbara," explained Shawn quickly.

Chief Vick's eyes narrowed. "I believe I saw that report, although we get a lot of requests for help in finding children kidnapped by parents. They are very hard cases to solve, if the kidnapping parent is smart about hiding."

Shawn nodded and then swallowed hard before saying, "Her son Justin was nine years old when they were kidnapped."

Vick's face fell into an agonized frown as the the calculations were made and the information sank in. "Oh, damn it all," she whispered.

They all turned to look out of the office window as Mrs. North and her brother were escorted to another detective's area. Mrs. North stood for a moment, staring at Lassiter's desk, and Shawn realized that she was reading his nameplate. She had apparently heard or had been told the names of the detectives involved in the shooting. At that moment, Lassiter returned from the hallway. Shawn's eyes widened as he realized what was going to happen. Mrs. North saw Lassiter approach his desk. She suddenly burst from her brother's supporting grasp and rushed over to Lassiter, her agonized expression turning black with anger.

"Are you the detective who killed my son?" she asked darkly.

Lassiter blinked at her in horror. Chief Vick started to shoulder past Shawn and Gus on her way out of the office. Shawn was transfixed by the scene, but out of the corner of his eye he saw a haggard and disheveled Juliet coming up the hallway from the interrogation rooms.

"Are you?" Mrs. North yelled. Her brother tried to pull her away, but she shrugged off his grasp.

Lassiter stared at her like she was the bony hand of death coming for him. Then he straightened up and swallowed thickly, his expression turning resigned. He nodded and said, "Yes."

She slapped his face hard, snapping his head to the side. She pulled back her arm to slap again but her brother grabbed her from behind just as Chief Vick reached them and jumped between the furious woman and her detective. Juliet rushed to Lassiter's side and put a hand on his arm. Shawn stepped out of the office and saw that Lassie was still holding his head to the side and had his eyes squeezed shut. His eyelashes looked wet.

"Mrs. North!" yelled Chief Vick.

The distraught woman let her brother pull her backwards, but she hissed at Lassiter, "He was just a boy!"

Juliet's face darkened with anger and she opened her mouth to protest, but a warning look from Vick stopper her. Instead she turned her attention to her partner and tugged at him, intending to get him away from the area. Lassiter let her lead him a few steps, but then he raised his head and pulled away from Juliet. He turned and walked past the chief who put out a warning hand. He approached Mrs. North, who was now standing by the other detective's desk. Her brother was hugging her from the side to hold her arms down and was glaring at Lassiter. The devastated mother just looked at him coldly as he approached. He stopped several feet away and stood meeting the mother's glare with a look of agonized contrition.

He cleared his throat and said, "He said to tell you that he's sorry they left."

Her cold glare cracked like ice and a deep sob escaped her chest as she sank into the chair by the desk. Her brother leaned over to hug her tightly as more sobs escaped her. Lassiter turned away and walked slowly back to Juliet. Chief Vick glanced at Mrs. North, her expression full of sadness, then she turned and followed the detectives. She spoke to them briefly before heading down the steps to the interrogation area.

Shawn had watched the whole scene with a strange feeling of detachment, as if it was a movie playing out on a screen instead of real. As if they were actors playing pretend instead of people he knew and cared for dealing with the aftermath of a traumatic event. He stood in the doorway watching Jules and Lassie descend the steps to the lower area of the station, shuffling their feet like disaster survivors, and he realized belatedly that he had a hand over his mouth. He looked at Gus and saw some moisture in his friend's eyes.

"Holy crap, dude," said Shawn, unsure in that moment of anything more appropriate to say.

"Maybe we should just leave?" asked Gus uncertainly.

Shawn looked around, not sure either if there was any reason to stay. He felt like such an outsider to all of the events, which strangely gave him a small pang of jealousy. Although, they did have a thin connection to the situation through their prior meeting with Mrs. North. Shawn looked at the distraught mother who was still crying, quietly now, at the detective's desk. Her brother had pulled up a chair next to her. Shawn put a hand on Gus's shoulder, then he walked over to the grieving pair.

"Mrs. North, I'm so very sorry for your loss," said Shawn.

She looked up at him and blinked in confusion for a moment, then her gaze cleared. "Oh, Mr. Spencer. Thank you," she said absently. Then her gaze sharpened. "What are you doing here? Did you find out any information about my..." Her voice hitched as she got stuck on the word.

"No, ma'am. I'm sorry. Gus and I work with the police on a lot of cases," said Shawn vaguely. "But I heard what happened. Mrs. North, I don't want to cause you more pain with questions, but I was wondering if you could give us some information about your ex-husband."

She scowled as more tears sprang to her eyes. "He's a bastard. He always was. I was just blind to it. Bill tried to warn me," she said, glancing at her brother.

Bill grimaced and shook his head. "Riley is just one of those smooth, bad boy types. We never really knew how bad, though. He'd been a crook the whole time he was with Gina. He stole from his employers and ran with a crowd of friends who were mostly thieves. He's smart. He knows how to hide his true self."

Shawn raised his eyebrows and nodded. "Okay," he said, wanting to ask a question but not finding himself able to vocalize it.

Mrs. North seemed to read his thoughts, though. "I'm sure Riley was behind this robbery. He was always talking about his boys, proud of them, possessive of them. He'd say things about having them follow in his footsteps, although he never really held steady jobs for long. I wasn't sure what he was talking about," she said darkly. "Now I know. He's turned them into criminals." She swallowed thickly and stopped, staring into a bleak nothingness.

Shawn's heart felt heavy, and he was ready to get away from the sadness of the whole situation so he could think more clearly. "Thank you, Mrs. North. And again, I'm sorry for your loss."

"Yes," said Gus. "We're very sorry. Please let us know if there's anything we can do for you, or if you have any more information for us. We'll continue to investigate."

"We'll do that," said Bill with a nod. "Thank you Mr. Guster, Mr. Spencer."

Shawn put a hand on Gus's shoulder again and the two of them headed for the exit, eager for a dose of bright sunshine to dispel some of the morning's sudden and overwhelming heaviness.

oOoOoOoO

Lassiter heard someone yelling, he felt the sweat soaking his shirt, he smelled gunpowder and blood, he saw a muzzle flash, he saw eyes wide with fear, he felt his gun recoil as he fired. He tossed in his bed, shivering and sweating, dreaming and not dreaming. He saw muzzle-flash and red-rimmed eyes. He saw Juliet's look of disgust and the critical glances of everyone surrounding him. He was surrounded and frightened and he just wanted to get away. He saw someone with a gun and he aimed. He felt his gun recoil and saw his partner's blonde hair as the muzzle flashed and the bullet flew towards her, then he felt a searing pain in his gut, like he was being cut in half. He gasped and sat up, eyes wide with fear. He looked around and saw his bedroom with the curtains drawn against the daylight. He felt his stomach twist and stumbled to the bathroom, only managing a few sobbing dry heaves, empty and only filled with an aching emptiness. After a few minutes he sat on the edge of the tub and just tried to calm his breathing, blinking away tears and the dregs of the haunting dream. His heart felt like it had been squeezed in a vice, he thought, as he absently rubbed at his chest. His shirt was soaked again.

He took a shower and changed into a pair of sweats and a t-shirt. He couldn't stand the thought of sleeping, but he felt too weary to do much else. The clock read 6PM, so he still had a whole night to get through, somehow. He wanted to call Juliet, but he wasn't sure what to say, and he figured she was sleeping. Sighing heavily, he shuffled into the kitchen and poured a shot of scotch. After downing it and coughing from the burn on his raw throat, he grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator and flopped onto the couch, turning on the TV. He stared past the flickering images of it, not seeing anything and trying not to see the memories that kept pushing their way into his brain. There was a sudden, quiet knock at the door and he shot to his feet, feeling his heart hammering painfully. He realized that his right hand had moved across his chest, once again reaching for the nonexistent holster, and he felt a flash of self-disgust. _Why the fuck am I always reaching for my gun? Get a fucking grip!_ He kept his hand on his chest for a moment as he walked to the door. When he opened it, he blinked in confusion, wondering if he'd fallen asleep on the couch and was dreaming.

"Hey Lassie!" said Shawn cheerily. He held up a large paper bag. "We brought some chicken soup and fresh bread. Nothing better than comfort food!" He shouldered his way into the house as Lassiter continued to stare blankly.

"Hey, Lassie," said Gus, smiling pleasantly and following his friend as if the two of them were common visitors.

Lassiter turned and regarded the two men who were busy unpacking the contents of the bag onto the table in his kitchen. He took a breath and realized he was waiting for the surge of irritation he usually felt in their presence to take hold, but it was curiously absent, or at least it was very tardy. He waited another few moments, then he decided the anger wasn't going to come. He walked over to the table and pulled out a chair.

Shawn looked at him, then focused past him for a moment. His eyes flashed with concern. "You forgot to shut your door," he said.

"Here," said Gus quickly as he moved to the door and closed it. "I got it."

Lassiter turned and followed Gus's movements, feeling as if he was stuck in slow motion while Shawn and Gus were on fast-forward. He cleared his throat, realizing he hadn't spoken a word to them yet. "Thanks," he rasped. He sat down in the chair and tried to think of something else he should say. "Uh." He stopped. Shawn and Gus looked at him expectantly. He returned their looks for a moment, but then he moved his gaze to his hands on the table, suddenly feeling lost.

Shawn and Gus exchanged a look as they both raised their eyebrows at Lassiter's behavior. Shawn cleared his throat. "So, uh, we figured you probably haven't eaten anything all day," he said as he set a takeout container of soup in front of Lassiter and dropped a plastic spoon next to it. "You should try to eat something."

Lassiter stared at the spoon for a moment and then picked it up, poking it into the soup. "I probably should, shouldn't I?" he said wearily. He didn't feel even remotely like trying to eat food, but the logic-side of his brain pushed its way through the haze of confused depression and urged him to do so. He took a bite and wondered why it had no taste.

"Have you managed to get any sleep?" asked Gus as he took a seat next to Lassiter.

Lassiter grimaced and poked at the soup some more. "Sort of," he said, then he took another bite. It still didn't have much flavor, but his stomach didn't seem to be rejecting it. He took a few more bites, oblivious to Shawn and Gus.

Shawn wandered into the living room. "Why are you watching a quilting show?" he asked with a hint of amusement in his voice.

Lassiter looked up and saw Gus glaring at his friend and shaking his head. He looked at the TV and said, "Uh, I don't know. I just turned it on. I guess I didn't see..." His voice faltered as a suddenly vivid memory interrupted him with a vision of the kid aiming his gun at Juliet and squeezing his eyes shut as he squeezed the trigger. Lassiter sucked in a breath as he saw the muzzle of the kid's gun flash in his memory. He had seen the kid fire his gun. He'd seen it, and then he'd fired. He'd yelled something, too, but he wasn't sure what. He blinked away the vision and looked up at Shawn and Gus's expectant gazes. "I did see," he said faintly.

Gus blinked and shook his head slightly. "What did you see?"

"Nevermind," said Lassiter, not sure how he felt about the vision and not wanting to talk about it, especially with these two. He looked at them again and felt a flicker of irritation, as if he was just waking up to his usual self. "Why are you two here?"

Shawn pursed his lips and shoved his hands into his pockets. "We just wanted to check on you. We thought you'd need some food...and maybe company."

Lassiter cleared his throat and looked at the rapidly cooling soup. He felt like he should tell them to leave, like that's what he would normally do, so he should do it now. But he wanted to eat more. He nodded and tried to ignore the feeling of self-conscious embarrassment that was beginning to envelop him. He could be embarrassed later. It didn't feel bad to have some food and someone to talk to at that moment, even if it was Shawn and Gus, so he began eating again.

The two friends seemed to sense the resolution of Lassiter's mental dispute. Gus opened another container of soup and started on it while Shawn turned off the TV and walked over to join them. They all ate in silence for several minutes.

"How's Juliet?" asked Lassiter as he pushed the empty carton of soup away. He felt more clear-headed than he'd felt since before the shooting, although his bone-weariness remained.

Shawn glanced up from his bowl. "She didn't answer the door," he said sheepishly. "We didn't knock very loudly, in case she was sleeping. I guess she was."

"Good," he said, feeling grateful for their thoughtfulness towards his partner. And then he remembered their light knock and realized with another flash of embarrassment that they'd extended the same courtesy to him, too. "And, uh, thank you for the soup." He rubbed tiredly at his face. He was almost shocked to feel how long his stubble was and tried for a moment to remember the last time he'd shaved.

"You should try to sleep," said Gus as he stood and started clearing the table.

Lassiter felt a pang of fear at the idea of sleeping, but then he sighed with resignation. "Yeah."

"Do you want us to stay for a while, you know, in case you can't fall asleep?" asked Shawn with a note of uncertainty, as if he wasn't sure he wanted to make such an offer.

Lassiter scrunched up his brow. "God, no," he said automatically. Then he realized how harsh it sounded and looked at Shawn. "I mean, I don't think that's necessary."

Shawn smiled faintly, looking strangely reassured, and said, "Okay, man. No problem. But if you do need anything, you can call us."

Lassiter shrugged and nodded, then he stood up and followed the two men to the front door. Gus gave a small wave as he and Shawn walked outside. Lassiter shut the door and then locked it. He turned towards his bedroom, feeling like he was walking through heavy surf. When he reached the couch he almost unconsciously decided to just drop onto it instead of completing the journey to his bed. He pulled his legs up to fit onto the couch and pulled a throw over his body, and then the world and his tired mind went blissfully blank.

At midnight his phone rang, the _Cops_ theme eventually working its way into his awareness as part of an unremembered dream. He didn't quite wake up. Ten minutes later, the song played again, worming into him until he finally opened his eyes and blinked with confusion at the glowing screen of his cell phone on the coffee table nearby. He tried to remember why he was sleeping on the couch, but he couldn't. He reached out and grabbed the phone.

"Hello," he managed to croak in a sleep-thickened voice.

"Are you the one who killed him?" asked a whispered rasp.

Lassiter felt a stab of fear and unreality. He lay still for a moment, feeling like any movement would be his downfall. Then he mentally shook himself as his sleep-fogged brain became more alert. "Who is this?" he asked.

"Why did you kill him?"

He gaped, trying to figure out how to answer the disembodied voice over the phone that seemed to be echoing his own guilt-ridden brain. _Can my own brain call me on the phone?_ He cleared his throat and said honestly, "I didn't want to."

There was a pause on the other end of the line, the soft sound of breathing, then the line went dead. Lassiter looked at the phone but the caller ID showed no information. He ended the dead call and held the phone to his chest as he stared at the ceiling, wondering if what had just happened had been real.


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

Juliet woke up at 5AM feeling as if she'd been in a car wreck. Her muscles were stiff and sore and she felt groggy until she'd had her shower and a cup of coffee. She'd been able to sleep soundly and dreamlessly for most of the prior day, but after waking at midnight to use the bathroom, she'd only managed a restless half-sleep. Her brain had kicked into overdrive and ran the whole shooting scene through her head in an endless loop. A plague of nagging doubts, biting at her like a cloud of mosquitos, kept repeating the images, examining everything they'd done that night for a mistake or misstep. She woke with the sunrise feeling sad and regretful but sure that they had done nothing wrong at the stakeout. They had all just suffered from horrible timing and tragic bad luck. While her sleep had been plagued with memories of the shooting, her morning was occupied with worrying about her partner. She knew he'd internalized the trauma of the experience more than she had, and understandably so. She'd been too physically and mentally exhausted to help him the day before, but now she couldn't stop wondering how Lassiter was doing. Something told her that he'd be awake.

"Hi, O'Hara. How are you?" he asked when he answered her call. His voice sounded tired and strangely flat.

"I was calling to ask you the same thing," she said tentatively.

There was the tiniest pause on the other end, then he said, "I'm fine."

"Are you?"

"Yes," he said with a faint snappishness. "And you didn't say how you're doing."

"I'm okay, Carlton. I'm tired, and I'm feeling sad about what happened, but I think we did our best," she said, feeling awkward talking about it over the phone. "It keeps running through my head and I don't see how we could've stopped it from happening."

He just grunted.

She sighed and rolled her eyes. It was hard enough talking to him in person about sensitive subjects. Over the phone was a lesson in futility. "Can I come over? I can give you a ride to the station."

"Sorry," he said, not sounding very sorry about it. "I have an appointment with my lawyer, then I have to talk to IA. McNab is on his way to get me."

"Oh," she said, not even trying to keep the disappointment from her voice. "You have an appointment this early?" She looked at the clock that was reading a little past 6AM.

"Yeah, I called in already and they said they could be there at 7AM. I want to get this over with."

Her brow furrowed. "Carlton, even if the investigation is finished quickly, which it should be, we will still have to deal with this."

There was silence on the other end of the line, although in her mind she pictured him with an irritated scowl.

"Listen, nevermind," she said, not wanting to pressure him to talk when he wasn't ready yet, especially over the phone. There would be time later, and she'd make sure they could talk without interruption. "Good luck with IA today. Detective Robson seems decent. Way, way better than Ocampo."

He grunted again.

She grimaced. "Maybe we can talk later, after your meetings."

"I'll see you at the station," he said abruptly. Then, after a beat of silence where she was sure he was going to hang up, he continued. "I'm glad you called, and that you're okay." And then he did hang up.

Juliet put the phone down and rubbed at her temples, feeling another headache coming on already.

oOoOoOoO

"That sounds good to me, Chief," said Juliet three hours later as she sat across from her superior. "In fact, I probably would've suggested it myself if you hadn't."

The chief gave her a wry smile and nodded. "Good, and speak of the devils, it looks like they're here now."

Juliet turned in her seat to watch as Shawn and Gus sauntered through the bullpen on their way to the chief's office. They were arguing about something, which was par for the course. They cut off their conversation when they reached the door, but the two women both heard Gus warning Shawn off about asking for ferret assistants or some other such nonsense. The chief waved them in.

"Jules!" said Shawn, his eyes brightening at the sight of her. He ran to her chair and bent down to give her an awkward half-hug. "How are you doing?"

Juliet flashed an embarrassed glance at the chief. She patted Shawn's arm and then tried to lean away from the embrace. "I'm fine, Shawn."

"Hey Jules," said Gus with a smile and a small wave as he moved to one of the other chairs at the chief's desk. Shawn dropped into the chair next to Juliet's.

"Hi, Gus. Thanks for coming, you guys."

"Of course!" said Shawn. "How could we pass up an offer to help out our favorite detectives...again."

"Shawn," said Gus warningly. Juliet sighed and shook her head.

Chief Vick cleared her throat. "Gentlemen," she began with a somber tone. "I've asked you to help us out on this case because it has become our highest priority and we need to get it solved as soon as possible."

Shawn raised his eyebrows dramatically and wiggled them at Gus who gave his friend a glare in return.

The chief didn't seem to be in the mood for Shawn's normal levity. Her face settled into a scowl and she said, "Any case that takes one of my top detectives out of action, in whatever manner, while the threat remains, requires our most serious and thorough attention and effort. We need to use all of the resources available to us, and that includes you two."

Shawn seemed to finally get the message and settled his face into as sober an expression as he could manage. "We will be thoroughly serious and effortlessly resourceful with our available attentions," said Shawn dramatically.

Gus gave his friend a sideways glance as he said, "You can count on us, Chief."

Vick gave each of them a measuring look, and then nodded. "I knew I could. Detective O'Hara will fill you in on the details of the case, and you can give her the details of your contact with Mrs. North, as well. Maybe somewhere in the overlap there will be a clue to help us make a breakthrough."

Juliet stood up and said, "Thank you, Chief." Then she turned and headed out of the room. "Let's get to work, guys."

Shawn and Gus jumped up and hurried to follow her. When they caught up to her at her desk, Shawn asked, "So you're officially on duty?"

"Yes, I was cleared this morning. Since my gun hadn't been fired, and the trajectory of the bullet..." she paused and pursed her lips, then she sat heavily in her chair. "Yes, I am."

Shawn and Gus sat in chairs across from her. Gus said, "I'm glad you're back on duty. Have you heard anything about Lassiter, yet?"

She sighed and shook her head. "No, not yet. He's been in meetings all morning with his attorney and IA detectives. There's still a lot of crime scene data that has to be processed and finalized. They were able to fast-track my clearance, at the chief's request, since it was so clear-cut. But it'll probably be at least a couple of days before they can clear Lassiter."

Shawn and Gus exchanged a look, then Shawn said, "And that doesn't count a psych eval, right?"

Juliet's expression hardened. "No."

"It's just that he seemed pretty shook up," said Shawn, sensing that he might have offended her. "He didn't seem like himself. He was totally un-grumpy and even slightly tolerant."

She looked at him sharply. "Did you see him yesterday?"

Gus said, "Yeah, we went to his place last night and took him some food."

Her eyebrows shot up. "Really?"

"We tried your place too," said Shawn. "But I think you were asleep."

"What time was this?"

"About 6PM," said Gus.

"Yeah, I was still sleeping pretty soundly at that time," she said wistfully. "So did Lassiter say anything? How did he seem? I feel like I should've checked on him too."

"No, no, you needed the sleep. He was," Shawn paused and glanced at Gus. "He was fine, mostly. He just seemed to be in a daze."

"Fatigue," said Gus helpfully. "He hadn't been able to sleep well, I don't think. He asked about you."

"Oh," she said and sighed.

"He ate some food, then we left," said Shawn. "Did you see him this morning?"

"No," she said, the disappointment clear in her voice. "I talked to him on the phone, but he, well, you know."

Shawn and Gus gave her sympathetic looks. "I'm sure you'll get to talk to him soon," said Gus encouragingly.

She nodded and gave them a half-hearted smile. "Yeah, I will. But first, we've got a lot of information to cover. Let's get to work."

oOoOoOoO

Lassiter sat stiffly in the chair, mouth set in a firm line and hands clasped in front of him on the metal interrogation table. His eyes were fixed on his hands and rarely met the gaze of the detective across from him. His attorney, sitting next to him, had been silent during most of the interview. Juliet had been correct about Detective Robson. The interview had been clear and fairly conducted, covering the pertinent details of the shooting incident without delving unnecessarily into personal areas. Regardless, Lassiter felt a trickle of sweat run down his back. He'd suffered two instances of a racing heartbeat during the interview, at times when he'd recounted the details of the shooting. The vividness of the memories had caused him to fidget nervously and had made it a struggle to speak with a calm, even tone. His emotional response to the memories made him simultaneously angry and embarrassed. He was sure he was acting like a guilty fool, even though he had nothing, really, to feel guilty about. At least, he kept trying to convince himself of that.

"Okay, detective, I believe we've covered all of the basic details sufficiently. I just have a couple more topics I'd like to examine," said Robson. He put down his pen and leaned on his elbows, hands clasped in front of him.

"What are they?" asked Lassiter, glancing up to meet Robson's gaze for a moment.

"Do you feel that you and your partner were impaired at all by the lack of sleep you'd suffered by finishing one case and then immediately conducting this stakeout?"

"No, sir," said Lassiter firmly. Robson pursed his lips and gazed at Lassiter, as if waiting for more. Lassiter shrugged. "We were tired, certainly, but I do not believe our abilities were impaired in any way."

Robson nodded. "Okay. Just one more thing then," he said. "I want to know what you believe could've been done differently."

Lassiter squinted at Robson. "I don't understand."

"It's pretty clear, detective, that you're not happy with how the incident went down."

"Of course I'm not happy," spat Lassiter, then he closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath to calm the sudden flare of anger. "How could I be?"

Robson nodded. "Fair enough. Look, we've gone over all of the details. You approached the house after watching Mr. Sommer enter. When you reached the door you waited for your partner."

"I stopped at the door and looked back for Detective O'Hara. She had fallen behind because she had, rightly, called in the new development," said Lassiter mechanically. "I was trying to see inside the house, to ascertain the situation, and that's when the light was turned on and the shot was fired."

"Right. So if you had run straight into the house without checking for your partner and taking stock of the situation, you still may not have entered in time to stop the shooting," said Robson.

"I can't say, sir," Lassiter said between clenched teeth.

"Exactly. You followed proper procedure, detective, by all accounts. I want to know, based on your years of experience, what you think could've been done differently to prevent the shooting from taking place."

Lassiter couldn't stop himself from glaring at Robson. "I don't know, sir." He was confused by the investigator's questions. They felt more like the questions he knew he would have to suffer in sessions with the department psychologist. "I've been going over it in my head, a lot," he said with a clipped tone. "And I don't know how I could have stopped it. I just know I should have."

Robson cleared his throat and softened his gaze. "I understand, detective. Believe me, I do. And, off the record here, I'm pretty sure that you're being more critical of your actions in this case than anyone else is going to be. Except for the press, of course," he said dryly.

Lassiter just scowled, feeling uncomfortable and angry at the hint of coddling he felt in Robson's words. _Is this guy feeling sorry for me? What kind of investigator is he?_

His attorney finally stirred and asked. "Are we finished here?"

"Yes," said Robson, picking up his pen and scribbling some more. "I'll prepare these forms and give them to the chief for you to sign later. You're free to go, detective. Thank you for your cooperation."

Lassiter nodded at the bowed head of the investigator, then he stood and walked out of the room, feeling the sore stiffness of his legs and back with every step of his escape. He stalked out of the room and headed for the chief's office to finish up his requirements. He wanted to get out of the station. He wasn't sure he'd ever felt that way before, but suddenly the place felt stifling. Everywhere he turned, someone was looking at him with "that look" on their face. There he goes, the detective who shot the kid, he could see the thought running through their minds. He kept catching himself walking with his head bowed and would correct it, raising his head and scolding himself silently for acting like a cowed moron. The thought of going back to his empty apartment wasn't attractive, but it was better than being a sideshow attraction at the station.

When he reached the top of the steps from the interrogation area, he saw yet another reason to leave the station as soon as possible. Shawn and Gus were standing by Juliet's desk looking at some files, which told him that they'd been put on the case. He felt a tightness in his chest as negative thoughts began to assail him. Those two goof-offs could work on the case while he was going to be forced to sit on his ass at home, and then they'd probably solve it, to add salt to the wound. He berated himself, then. _Don't be such a pompous jerk. If the case is solved it's solved, it doesn't matter who does it. Whining and jealousy aren't qualities for a good detective. They must be qualities for gun-happy child-killing detectives_. He scowled at his own thoughts and lowered his head as he approached the chief's door. He couldn't escape the notice of one snarky psychic, though.

"Lassie! Are you done?" asked Shawn brightly. "We were just talking about grabbing some lunch."

Juliet jumped up from her desk and walked over. "Carlton, how'd it go?" she asked. Then she glanced over her shoulder at Shawn and Gus, suddenly looking uncomfortable. "Well, at least it's over with. Did they give you any word on when you'll hear?"

He just shook his head and avoided meeting her eyes. Her presence suddenly heightened his anxiety. He tried to figure out why, but it was like he'd forgotten something that had to do with Juliet. It was just out of reach at the edges of his memory, and it was something that he dreaded remembering. The feeling left him confused and acutely uneasy. "I need to talk to the chief, still."

"Right," said Juliet, concern creeping into her expression. "We were just discussing lunch. Maybe after you talk to the chief you can join us."

"I don't think so," he said, his face feeling suddenly hot. He cleared his throat and loosened his tie. "I, uh, have things to do, at home."

He knew it was a terrible excuse, but something about the idea of hanging out at a restaurant with Juliet and Shawn and Gus sounded vaguely horrifying to him. He was feeling a lingering sense of embarrassment for the visit Shawn and Gus had paid him from the previous night, which still had a dream-like feeling to it. At the thought of it, he also remembered the odd phone call. He hadn't mentioned it to anyone, and he didn't plan to either. Somehow the call seemed too personal to share. And really, he wasn't sure it had anything to do with the case. It could've been a prank call. But his instincts told him that it was related, he just didn't know how. Until he knew for sure, he was going to keep it to himself.

"Oh," said Juliet, sounding disappointed. "Okay."

The nagging dread of the forgotten memory coursed through him again, and with it came a flash of irritation. He suddenly felt like everything he did was a disappointment to the people around him. It felt like he couldn't do anything right. He knew, logically, that the feeling was irrational, but since the shooting, he'd been plagued by emotional responses and negative thoughts. He was growing extremely tired of it all.

"I need to talk to the chief now," he said with a clipped tone. Then he turned and gave a single knock on the chief's door before pushing it open and entering, as if he was desperate to get away.

He could hear Juliet's sigh behind him, and he felt bad for brushing her off. He knew she wanted to talk about the shooting with him, but he didn't feel ready for that, yet. He was already talking about it more than he wanted with the investigation and the reports, and he couldn't stop thinking about it even when he was sleeping. He just wanted a few moments of peace. He wanted to be free of the horrible event, but he knew that was impossible, and it made him angry. He was angry at himself, he was angry at the scared kid, he was angry at everyone giving him that odd look and at the whispers behind his back. And somehow, the offers of sympathy and comfort were the hardest to take, making him feel as if he was only fit to be pitied and coddled. His thoughts brought a black scowl to his face that raised the chief's eyebrows. He berated himself, yet again, for showing too much emotion as he tried to soften his expression while they worked out a schedule for the psych eval. Before he left, the chief warned him that reporters were hovering at the entrance and that he should be prepared for them. After a few more minutes where he endured a quick pep talk by the chief, he exited the office. The trio at Juliet's desk were still discussing where to eat. Lassiter kept his expression neutral as he tried to breeze past them and out of the station, hoping that they were too engrossed in their discussion to notice him.

Shawn jumped into his path. Knowing how much Juliet wanted to talk to her partner, he was taking it upon himself to force the invite. "Lassaroo! We're heading out for tacos, your favorite! Let's go, man. Gus will drive, even."

"Shawn!" came Gus's protest.

Lassiter pulled up just before he barreled into Shawn. He glared at the psychic as if trying to burn two large holes through him. Shawn braced himself, expecting a tirade. But at the last moment Lassiter swallowed what felt like a rock and said, "I can't. Just let me go."

Shawn looked faintly shocked at the lack of yelling. Lassiter was suddenly overcome with a memory of the kid asking the same thing in the dark house, shaking and scared and wanting only to be allowed to leave. The kid had said the same thing. Lassiter closed his eyes for a moment and felt a strange sensation, as if the ground had shifted under his feet, as if he was on a boat cresting an ocean swell. He drew in a shaky breath and felt his forehead break out in sweat.

"Carlton? Are you okay?" asked Juliet from beside him.

Lassiter opened his eyes and suddenly realized why he was so uncomfortable around his partner. The epiphany sent his heart racing again, increasing his anxiety tenfold. He took a shaky breath and kept his gaze locked on the station doors, like they were his only salvation. "I'll talk to you later," he said, stiff-jawed.

He stepped around a puzzled and miraculously speechless Spencer and headed out of the station as quickly as his rubbery-feeling legs would take him. The bright sunlight hit him like a force and he paused, fumbling at his coat pockets for sunglasses. Before he could get them on, he heard voices from the glare and felt a stab of fear in his gut. Reporters. He'd forgotten Vick's warning.

"Detective Lassiter! Can you give us a statement on the shooting?" yelled one reporter.

"Detective, give us a comment!" yelled another.

Lassiter shoved the sunglasses onto his face and tried to find a route past the converging media horde. "No comment," he said mechanically, hoping they'd accept that and move on and knowing they wouldn't. He started picking his way down the front steps of the station and through the cacophany of "Detective! Detective! We need a statement" that assailed him from all sides. He kept repeating "No comment" like a mantra as he pushed his way towards his car.

"Can you comment on the rumor that you were sleep-deprived?" yelled a voice that pulled Lassiter up short.

"Excuse me?" he barked, looking around for whoever had asked the question.

A reporter pushed his way up to face Lassiter as all of the others stuck their recorders in his face to catch the exchange. "There's a rumor out there that you and your partner were suffering sleep deprivation, and that maybe you shouldn't have been on that stakeout in the first place."

Lassiter gaped at the reporter for a moment, struck by the coincidence of Robson asking the same question just minutes earlier. _Was this a concern of the department, and then had someone leaked it to the press already?_ Both ideas seemed simply unbelievable. "Where did you hear that?" he asked.

"Is there any substance to that rumor? And would sleep-deprivation have any affect on your already noted tendency to fire your weapon more than normal?" asked the reporter, ignoring his question and staring at Lassiter with eager, bloodthirsty anticipation.

Lassiter felt a shock of anger and opened his mouth to start yelling at the reporter, knowing he shouldn't but finding himself unable to stop. Before he found his voice, though, and dug a deep hole for himself, there was a parting of the seas behind him. Shawn and Gus pushed their way through the crowd, jumping up to look over everyone's heads and pointing so that the people around them automatically started to look at where they were gesturing.

"Oh my god, did you just see that?" yelled Shawn excitedly. "You can't seriously tell me you all just missed that?"

"There he goes!" yelled Gus, pointing into the distance.

The crowd turned to gaze in confusion at wherever Gus was pointing. There were murmurs of "what is it?" and "what's he talking about?" floating amongst the media gaggle.

"The streaker!" said Shawn. "The naked guy who just ran past the station. He was holding a sign that said 'Observe your tax dollars at work!' and he had like four cops running after him! It was awesome! I can't believe none of you got that on camera."

As the reporters all started looking for phantom naked men, Juliet stepped up behind Lassiter and grabbed his arm, pulling him off to the side and away from the crowd. The reporter who'd hounded Lassiter wasn't so easily distracted, but Juliet put out a hand when he tried to follow them and said sternly, "We can't give comments about ongoing investigations."

Her glare popped the reporter's eager bubble when he could tell she wouldn't be baited. He grimaced and turned away to look for a streaker with the other reporters. Juliet kept her hand on Lassiter's elbow as she guided him through the parking lot towards the blue Crown Vic that had been left at the station overnight. He felt suddenly deflated after the near-debacle with the reporters and didn't attempt to shake off her grip. When they reached the car, Juliet turned him to face her.

"Are you okay?" she asked, retaining her sternness, as if she was fed up with his behavior.

He met her look and sighed, feeling an emptiness in his gut as if he was crumbling to pieces from the inside out. He threw his hands out to the sides in a gesture of helplessness. "I don't know," he said.

She tilted her head with a look of sadness. "Carlton, just...talk to me."

He crossed his arms tightly and looked at the ground for a few moments. Then he cleared his throat. "I remembered something, last night, but then I forgot it again, until just a minute ago, inside," he said, waving vaguely at the station.

"Okay," said Juliet, confusion clear in her voice. "What is it?"

"I did see the kid fire his gun," he said, glancing up at her and then looking quickly away.

Juliet gave a slight shrug and shook her head, still confused. "And?"

He looked up at her again, eyes burning with an anger turned inward. "I saw him fire his gun, O'Hara. At you," he growled.

Juliet took a deep breath and closed her eyes for a moment. "Oh," she said with an outrush of breath. She opened her eyes again and gave him a look of utter exasperation. "How many times do I have to tell you that you did the best you could?"

Lassiter shook his head and dropped his arms to his sides. "I hesitated, I let my emotions distract me, and then I let him fire his gun at you."

"You were trying to talk him down, Carlton. I heard you. That's not letting your emotions distract you, that's being human and doing your damnedest to save a screwed-up kid's life."

"You could've been shot," he said slowly, as if each word he spoke was a rock. "I let him take a shot at you."

"You didn't 'let' him do anything!" she cried. Then she pursed her lips for a moment, looking around to make sure they weren't attracting attention. "You tried to stop him, you tried to make him put his gun down. You gave him a chance to live. I was listening at the door before I came in. I heard you trying to get him to surrender his weapon. Jesus, Carlton, you practically begged him!"

Lassiter put his hands on his hips and leaned his head back to gaze angrily at the sky.

Juliet continued, "When I stepped inside he turned and fired wildly. You didn't have time to shoot before he fired. If anything, I should've stayed outside longer."

Lassiter looked at her and shook his head. "It wasn't you, O'Hara. You did the right thing."

"So did you," she said firmly, her gaze daring him to contradict her again.

He looked at her for a few moments, expression bleeding slowly from anger to defeat.

"It was an impossible situation, Carlton. It was out of your control," she said softly. "You did the best you could."

He shook his head again and then rubbed at his face with both hands.

"Now, I need to know that you're going to be okay."

"I'll be fine," he said, unconvincingly. He crossed his arms tightly again.

"I know you will," she said confidently. "But you need to give yourself time to get fine."

"I know." He felt uncomfortable again, under her gaze, and dropped his eyes to the ground. "I just want to go home for a while," he said quietly.

"Okay, but I don't think you should spend too much time alone," she said. "Can I come over later, after my shift? Maybe I can bring dinner."

He grimaced and gave a slight shake to his head, but then he drew in a breath and said, "Okay."

"And one more thing," she said, looking around and lowering her voice.

He gave her a wary look. "What's that?"

She leaned towards him and said, "Can I have a hug? Please?"

He scowled and looked around as if for an escape, but when he saw no other people in the general area, he leaned over and gave her a quick hug. She squeezed him enthusiastically in return, and he had to admit to himself that it felt good as he closed his eyes for a moment. He realized that a lot of the agitation he'd been feeling hadn't only been his anguish over killing the kid but also his guilt over the kid firing on his partner. He still felt responsible, but suddenly it wasn't eating away at him as much anymore.

She gave him a bright smile as she stepped away. "Thank you."

He couldn't quite manage a smile, but he felt the tension in face and body ease. He nodded and said, "No problem."

"Okay, partner. Go home and get some rest. I'll see you later tonight, right?"

"Right." He climbed into the car and drove away as Juliet walked up the station steps.

oOoOoOoO

Shawn knocked on the door of the hotel room, dreading the next conversation. Gus hung back and looked like he just wanted to run away down the hall. The door was opened by Bill Carcillo.

"Hi, come on in," he said, stepping back into the room.

They followed him through the narrow entry of the hotel room, past the door to the bathroom. The main part of the room was about the size of some of the closets that could be found in the higher-end Santa Barbara homes. Two twin-beds took up most of the room's space. The place smelled vaguely of dust and cheap air fresheners. Gina North and her brother were obviously stretching their funds as far as they possibly could.

"Hello Mr. Spencer, Mr. Guster. You said you had some questions for me?" asked Gina as she sat in a wooden chair at a tiny round table in the corner of the room. She looked as if she'd been crying for two days, which Shawn realized she probably had.

"Please, just call us Shawn and Gus. We're not really the mister types," said Shawn.

Gus nodded and sat gingerly on the edge of one of the twin beds. Shawn sat on the side opposite Gus. Bill stood leaning against a wall, looking uncertain, but mostly just tired. Shawn glanced around and saw a small framed picture on the nightstand. It was Mrs. North and two boys and must've been one of the last pictures taken before they'd been stolen away from her. Justin was tall for his age and smiling widely with a mop of light brown hair falling into his eyes. The darker-haired and even taller Braden was smiling too, but he had a sad look to his eyes and worry-grooves in his forehead. Shawn thought it was strange that a 13-year-old would have that.

"Alright, then," she said. "You can call me Gina."

"Great," said Shawn with a smile. "Um, I was hoping to get some information about your sons, today, if that's not going to be too difficult for you."

"What kind of information?"

Shawn leaned his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands together. "I just want to get a feel for their personalities. It might help me get a better idea of how to find them."

"You mean like getting their scent for your psychic vibes or something?" asked Gina with a hint of tired sarcasm.

Shawn shrugged. "My psychic abilities are a tool that help me do my job, but I have other skills as well," said Shawn.

Gina sighed. "Of course. I'm sorry if I was rude. I've just been doing this for so long."

Gus gave her a sympathetic look. "That's okay. We understand. And we really do want to help you find your son so you don't have to keep doing this."

She nodded and took a deep breath. "Their personalities? Sometimes I'm afraid I don't even remember them well enough anymore, or I worry that I wouldn't even know them now," she said sadly. "Justin was the spitfire, always running, always tagging after his father whenever he was around, at least." Her face twisted with disgust for a moment. "Braden was my little soldier, helping me with chores, making sure his brother didn't jump off the roof or something. He was so conscientious, I was even a little concerned. It didn't seem right for such a young boy to be so responsible already. He just always wanted to do everything right, and to make everyone happy. He idolized his father as well, but not in the same way as Justin who was just a mirror image of Riley. Braden, I think, knew that his father was flawed, but he still loved him and wanted to please him. I think he may have had some crazy idea that he could keep his father out of trouble, somehow, like he did his brother."

Shawn listened intently, squinting slightly. An idea occurred to him that he filed away pending another perusal of the shooting incident report. "Was Riley ever abusive, physically, with you or the boys?"

"No, although he did have a black temper and would yell often, he always seemed to be able to stop himself from taking that last step," she said quietly.

"Do you think, if your ex-husband has become more violent over the years, that your sons would still feel the same way about him? I guess what I'm asking is, would they help him commit a violent crime?"

Gina closed her eyes and shook her head. Her expression was pinched with pain for a few moments, but then her face relaxed again. "I would've said no, two days ago," she said quietly. "I just still can't believe it. But I know that sometimes those kinds of things happen gradually, and people get stuck before they realize it, doing things they never thought they'd do."

Shawn grimaced and nodded. "We're trying to figure out how Riley and the boys might be connected to some other burglaries. Do you think they would work as day laborers in order to get into houses to scope them out?"

"No, god no," said Gina. "Riley never lifted a finger in manual labor if he could avoid it. Now, I suppose he might've had the boys do it, but he was always suspicious and didn't like them being out of his sight for long. After taking them, I can't imagine he would've gotten less strict about that, so I doubt he'd let them go out to work without him."

Shawn grimaced.

"No," Gina continued. "Riley was all about the easy score. He would've been a good con man, but he never had the patience to see something like that all the way through. And when he got frustrated and impatient, his temper emerged. As the years went on with him, he got worse that way. I felt like he was getting too close to taking that last step. That's why I left with the boys and got the restraining order...but it didn't work, did it?"

Something niggled at Shawn's brain, just the beginnings of a theory that he'd have to do some research on later. "I'm sorry for your trouble, Gina, and for your loss. Thank you so much, though, for the information. I do think it will be a big help to me now." He stood up and Gus followed suit.

"If you don't mind, I have a few questions for you, too," said Gina with a hint of sharpness to her tone.

Shawn glanced at Gus and then sat down again. "Uh, sure"

"You work with the police a lot, I've heard," she began, her voice flinty. "Do you work with those two detectives?"

"Gina," said Bill warningly. He had a worried look of dread on his face.

"I just want to know," she said at him. Then she looked at Shawn intently. "Well?"

Shawn felt a cold spike in his stomach and swallowed. "Yes, we work with Detectives Lassiter and O'Hara most of the time when we're hired by the SBPD."

Gina's eyes narrowed. "Are they good cops? Really? Do you believe their account of the shooting?"

Shawn turned to give Gus a helpless look and saw that he was apparently as uncomfortable as Shawn felt. "Um, I'm sorry, but I'm not sure if we should be talking about this."

"I just want to know," she said forcefully, but then her voice broke and she had to take a breath. "I just want to know if they are good people."

Shawn sighed, not sure what to say, or if he should say anything at all. But she seemed to really need for him to say something. "Yes, they are. They are good people, and they are good detectives, and they are my friends," he said.

Gina was struggling to keep herself from crying. "The man, Lassiter," she said, barely containing sobs. "Does he know what he's..." She stopped then, unable to continue, and just shook her head.

Shawn knew what she was asking, though. He looked her in the eye and he said, "Yes, he does. I know it won't make you feel any better, but I think he's devastated by...what happened. I know him, Gina. He wouldn't have done it if he'd had a choice."

She squeezed her eyes shut and turned away towards the window. She waved a hand at them before burying her face in her hands. Shawn grimaced and stood up again. Bill gave them a forlorn look as they walked past him on the way out of the room.


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

Lassiter was dozing on the couch when his cell phone rang. His eyes opened and he blinked in confusion at the sound. He'd been sleeping deeply and it took him a few moments to gather his wits again. By the time he grabbed the phone, the ringing had stopped. He felt an uncomfortable sense of deja vu from the previous night and sighed, wishing he hadn't been awakened. The sleep had been dreamless which was a rare thing for him the past couple of days. He looked at the phone, expecting O'Hara's number, but it showed no information. A cold feeling filled the pit of his stomach. He sat up and waited out a wave of dizziness before standing up to get a drink from the kitchen, taking the phone with him. He stood at the counter, staring down at the phone as he drank some juice. The minutes dragged on and he started feeling sleepy again. Since his talk with Juliet, he'd spent most of the day napping. It was almost like he'd caught a flu or something, but he felt fine other than just terribly fatigued. He supposed it was just stress, which led him to the conclusion then and there that acute stress was a major pain in the ass to be avoided at all costs in the future.

He put the glass in the sink and rubbed his face with his hands. The phone rang. He froze and stared at it from between his fingers. He looked at the clock which read 4:30PM. Then he picked up the phone.

"Hello?"

"You said you didn't want to do it?"

Lassiter grimaced and fought back a sharp retort. "That's right."

"Then why did you do it?"

"Who are you?" he asked, trying to pick out any clues he could hear through the phone. There were no other noises, and the person was whispering which made it hard to tell anything about the voice other than that it was male.

"Tell me why."

"Why should I tell you?"

"I tried to help you cops out, for all the good it did. Maybe I can still do something right." The bitterness was clear despite the whisper. "But I gotta know this first before I keep talking to you."

Lassiter blinked in confusion. _What the hell does that mean? Is this the guy who called in the tip? Why does he want to talk to me about this? I'm not even on the case anymore._ He frowned and decided to keep the man talking. It might be important to the case, so he could at least be a part of it in this small way. He shrugged helplessly and said, "I had no choice."

"That's bullshit."

"He wouldn't put the gun down!" bellowed Lassiter into the phone, unable to contain his anger.

There was silence on the other end and he thought for a second the call had been ended, but then he heard a soft breath, like a sigh. "Did you let him try?" Anguish was clear in the whispered voice.

Lassiter drew in a shaky breath, fighting back the memory. "I begged him," he said soberly. "He was too jumpy, wound up on something."

"He was high," said the voice in a barely audible whisper.

"I almost put my own gun down to get him to surrender," said Lassiter, remembering the urge to do so. He knew he never would have actually lowered his weapon, but this guy didn't need to know that. "But it wouldn't have worked."

"No," the voice agreed.

"I had no choice," said Lassiter sadly, rubbing at his aching forehead. "He shot at my partner. He gave me no choice."

The call went dead. Lassiter tossed the phone down and leaned his elbows on the counter so he could rest his head in his hands. The mysterious calls certainly weren't helping his stress levels. He stood up with his hands on top of his head and turned towards the living room, but after a step he turned back and retrieved the phone, just in case. The caller had to be the guy who had phoned in the tip on the robbery. But how else was he connected? He had to know Riley and Braden North, and Justin, somehow. He sounded too emotionally invested in the shooting not to be closely involved with them. Maybe it was an accomplice who was having second-thoughts? Or could the caller even be the brother, Braden? The idea sent a shiver down Lassiter's spine. It seemed like a crazy idea, but something about it also felt right. He growled with frustration then, thinking that nothing seemed right lately, so how could he trust the wild ideas in his head. Lassiter sighed and decided he'd have to tell Juliet about the calls later when she brought dinner. She'd help him sort out the possibilities with a clearer head, and then they could arrange to trace any more calls he received. In the meantime, he just wanted to lie down again. He wasn't sure if he could sleep, but at least his body could get some rest even if his mind wouldn't.

oOoOoOoOoO

It was after 5PM and Juliet was rubbing at her sore neck and trying to stretch her back. She'd been going over all of the files on the home invasions once more, trying to find out how Riley North and his sons were connected to the crimes. They needed a clue that would lead them to Riley and Braden. Shawn and Gus had left three hours earlier to speak with Mrs. North again and to do some other legwork. Juliet had called Lassiter a couple of hours after their talk in the parking lot, ostensibly to set a time for when she'd come over and to ask what dinner he wanted her to bring, but she'd also called to just check on him. He'd sensed that, apparently, and had snapped at her not to make a habit of calling him all day long like he was some latch-key kid who needed supervising. His tirade had left her feeling somewhat better, actually, because it was more like his normal, cranky behavior. The jumpiness and gloom and irritability he'd exhibited since the shooting worried her, reminding her too much of accounts of PTSD that her brother had mentioned some of his Army friends suffering. She didn't think it was that serious, but she didn't want it to have a chance to get to that point, either.

As she was flipping the last file on her desk closed, someone approached. She looked up to find the computer tech, Lisa Michaelson, standing in front of her looking slightly nervous. She was the woman Lassiter had gone out with the prior week.

"Lisa! Hi, how are you?" asked Juliet brightly while wondering what she could want. She got the sudden fear that Lisa wanted to say that she didn't want to see Lassiter again, or something along those lines, and that she'd want her to pass on the bad news. She kept her smile fixed and hoped that wasn't the case.

"Hi, Juliet. I'm doing fine," she said with a small smile. "This is going to sound silly, maybe, but I just wanted to ask you how Carlton is doing."

"Oh, he's okay," she said. "Please sit down." Juliet studied her for a moment. Lisa was tall, and of a medium build, not heavy but not particularly thin. She was attractive in a way that fell more on the athletic end of the scale as opposed to the ultra-feminine. She had long auburn hair that was usually, as now, pulled back into a ponytail.

"Is he, really?" asked Lisa, as if she could tell Juliet was offering a platitude.

Juliet sighed and conceded, "It's been a little hard on him."

Lisa nodded. "I'm sure it has. I told you my uncle was a detective in Chicago. I remember he was involved in a similar situation years ago," she said, then she trailed off.

"Was he okay, afterwards?" asked Juliet.

Lisa hesitated. "Yes, although I do think some of the effects never quite went away." She gave Juliet an almost apologetic look. "And anyway, it wasn't exactly the same."

Juliet nodded. "I understand. I think Carlton's going to be fine, he just needs a few days for everything to settle."

"Sure, that's what I figured," said Lisa, fidgeting slightly in her chair. "And that's kind of what I wanted to ask you about. Do you think now would be a really bad time to go out with him again, just on a really casual, laid-back date? Or do you think that maybe, you know, the distraction could be a good thing?"

Juliet blinked with surprise. "Oh! Um..."

"Just tell me if the whole idea is insane. I don't want to make things worse."

"No!" said Juliet quickly, not wanting to discourage Lisa's interest. "I don't think the idea is insane at all." She furrowed her brow and considered the notion, but she wasn't sure about it either. "I'm actually going to be having dinner with him soon. Do you want me to just ask him?"

Lisa let out a quick laugh and grinned wryly. "Oh, sure, why not? If you don't think it's too much like high school, passing messages through friends?"

Juliet laughed too. "If it works, it works."

Lisa's expression sobered again. "Well, thank you. I just want to help, if I can. And I wanted to see him again, because I got the sense that maybe our conversation had put him off last week. It was just a silly thing to be talking about...oh, nevermind, now I'm rambling."

"Actually, he told me a little bit about your date," said Juliet.

"He did? How cute is that?" said Lisa wryly, but with warmth.

"Yes, and he was actually worried that you were put off about the conversation."

"Oh, no, not at all! I can just get a little carried away sometimes, on certain topics. I actually had a really nice time. You can tell him that," said Lisa with a grin.

"Well, then I will. I think he'll be happy to hear it. I do believe he mentioned that he had a nice time, too."

Lisa's grin grew into a sincere smile and Juliet thought she was even blushing slightly. "Great! Well, I've taken up enough of your time. Tell Carlton I said hello, and...just let me know." She stood up and gave Juliet a small wave as she turned to go.

"Okay, Lisa. I'll see you later," said Juliet.

Juliet hoped Lassiter would consider going out with Lisa again. It could be just the thing to help him stop dwelling on the shooting. She looked back at her desk, intending to write down some notes, but several minutes later she realized she'd just been staring into space. She decided that it was time to grab dinner.

oOoOoOoO

A half hour or so later, she was leaving the small Italian restaurant with a large bag of takeout that wafted deliciously. Her stomach growled. She hoped it wouldn't get too cold before she could get to Lassiter's apartment. As she buckled into her car, though, her cell phone rang, showing Shawn's number.

"Hi Shawn, what's up?" she asked with a sinking feeling about her dinner plans.

"Jules! Breakthrough! We're at the station. Can you come back?"

"Is it important? I just picked up dinner."

"Great! Bring it along. I'm starving," said Shawn. She could hear Gus in the background asking what kind of food it was.

"No, Shawn, this is the dinner I was going to take over to Lassiter," said Jules.

"But we've got an address!" cried Shawn.

Juliet blinked as her jaw dropped. "What?"

"Well, we've got a phone number, which you can get the address for, right? So that means I figured out where Riley North is," said Shawn with a hint of pride in his voice. "You need to get back here!"

Juliet shook her head with awe. "That's amazing!" she exclaimed. She put the car in gear and started driving back to the station. She'd have to figure out a way to get the food to Lassiter after she got there. "I'm on my way now."

"Sweet! See you soon," he said and hung up.

Juliet punched in Lassiter's number and listened as it rang several times, just getting to the point of concern when he finally answered.

"Hello," he said, sounding strangely wary, as if he was dreading her call.

"Carlton, it's Juliet. Were you sleeping?" she asked.

"Oh. No, I wasn't," he said with audible relief.

"Well, unfortunately I have to change our plans. I just picked up dinner, but I've been called back to the station," she said, omitting the part about Shawn being the one who had called her back. "I'm going to have to find someone there to bring this food to you instead."

"Sure, no problem," he said, almost hiding the disappointment in his voice.

She knew how much he hated not being involved in the case. Maybe, by some miracle, the IA investigation would clear him by the next day. But then he'd still need to clear a psych eval, she remembered. She sighed. "I'm sorry, Carlton. I'm not even sure yet what they've got, so maybe I can make it over later."

"Yeah, I was, um..." he trailed off.

"What?" she asked, getting the sense that he was about to tell her something.

"Nothing. I'll tell you about it later. Just get to work, O'Hara," he said, forcing his usual stern tone. She appreciated the effort.

"I'll talk to you soon, and I'll send this food right over. It smells so good it's killing me."

There was a pause on the other end, then he just said, "Thank you."

"Bye, Carlton," she said, but she could hear that he'd already ended the call.

She shook her head and hoped that whatever Shawn had found turned out to be a solid lead. If it was some kind of nonsense, she might have to throw him in the holding cells for the night. The thought made her smile when she realized how Lassiter-like it was. Shawn had sounded confident, though. She felt a thrill of anticipation at the idea that they were starting to crack the case.

Ten minutes later, Juliet rushed into the station carrying the food. She noticed Shawn and Gus spreading out files on her desk and walked over to Lassiter's desk to put the bag down, holding up a warning hand when she saw Gus eyeballing it eagerly. She shook her head at him which resulted in a sad-puppy expression. She shook her head again in amused exasperation. She'd never known two people so fixated on food.

"Just a minute, guys. I'll be right there."

She looked around for McNab or any officer who didn't seem to be occupied, and then her eyes fell on Lisa Michaelson who was apparently just leaving the station for the day. She felt a thrill of inspiration.

"Lisa!" she called excitedly.

Lisa looked at her, and then looked around as if she thought Juliet might be talking to someone else. "Hi, Juliet. What's up?" She walked over to the desk.

"I need a really big favor," began Juliet. "I was supposed to take this food over to Carlton tonight, but something came up with the case."

Lisa's eyebrows raised and her expression turned uncertain, as if she was guessing what Juliet was going to ask next.

"Do you think you could drop it off for me?" asked Juliet.

Lisa's eyebrows seemed to raise even higher. "Oh! Um, I guess...do you think I should?"

"Yes! I mean, I didn't get a chance to talk to him yet, of course, about what we talked about," said Juliet. "But it smells so good that I'd hate for it to go to waste, and I'm sure he hasn't eaten."

"Well, sure, then. Why not?" said Lisa, smiling through her obvious surprise.

"Great! I'm sorry to spring this on you, but when I saw you leaving, it just seemed like good timing," said Juliet, but then she felt a sudden uncertainty. She didn't want Lisa to feel pressured. "I mean, if you want to. Do you really want to? Because I can find someone else..."

"No, really. It's a good idea. It makes sense. I was just heading home to a lonely dinner anyway. I'd love to help out," she said with a sincere smile.

"That's great, really, thank you so much," said Juliet, feeling a sense of relief and excitement at the same time. Hopefully Lassiter wouldn't be too shocked. She didn't think he would be rude if Lisa showed up unannounced, but she wasn't positive either. Maybe she'd call him really quick first, to give him at least a little warning. Now that the crazy, spontaneous idea seemed to be in motion she wanted it to work out for the best.

Lisa's brow furrowed. "Just one thing," she said. "Where does he live?"

"Oh! Right," said Juliet, spinning around to scribble down Lassiter's address. "Here you go. Can you find it?"

Lisa looked at the address and nodded. "Sure, I know this area. I'll find it," she said as she picked up the bag of food. She gave Juliet a small wave as she turned for the doors. "Wish me luck!"

"Oh, you won't need luck. Just have a nice time!"

Juliet turned to her desk, feeling a glow of accomplishment. She saw Shawn and Gus watching Lisa leave with expressions of longing that Juliet knew full well were due to the exit of the food. She rolled her eyes and pulled out her cell phone to call Lassiter.

"Aren't you out on the case?" said Lassiter grumpily in lieu of a polite answer to her call. "Why are you calling already?"

She grimaced. "Carlton, I wanted to tell you that Lisa is coming over with the food."

There was a stunned silence on the other end of the line.

"I wanted to warn you so that you wouldn't be surprised and rude to her," she said pointedly, feeling justified in making the call.

"Lisa?"

"Yes, Lisa. She was just leaving the station for the night, so I thought it was a good idea for her to be the one to bring your dinner."

"Why in the world would you think that?" he yelled, initial shock giving away to outrage.

"Carlton, I spoke with her earlier today. She asked me about seeing you again. She really wanted to, and when I was called back here and she was leaving, it was just perfect timing for her to be the one to bring you the food."

More stunned silence.

"Just go brush your hair and pick up a little, she's going to be there soon," admonished Juliet.

"Jesus, O'Hara," he said, recovering from his shock and outrage at her audacity enough to start sounding a little panicked at the thought of Lisa's imminent visit. "We're going to have a talk about this later, dammit." There was a pause and then his voice turned more calculating. "This place isn't too messy...I gotta go." The line went dead.

Juliet laughed and shook her head. She looked over to see Shawn and Gus staring at her like she'd sprouted eye stalks. Shawn said, "That was quite possibly the most disturbing thing I've ever witnessed." Gus, looking like he'd just sniffed something foul-smelling, nodded his agreement.

"Oh, zip it," said Juliet as she walked over to join them. "Now what did you two find?"

Shawn waved dramatically at the papers strewn across her desk. "Phone records!" he said proudly.

Juliet recognized the phone records for the homes that had been robbed. They hadn't found any common numbers in their investigation, but they had only looked for numbers relating to construction or real estate. She knew Shawn had identified something, though, and nodded encouragingly. "And?"

"And there's one phone number that appears on all of these records."

"Which one?"

"Here," said Shawn, pointing to a number that they had marked with highlighter. It was just a general number and didn't have any business identification attached to it.

She blinked. "Wow. What's the number for?"

"This," said Shawn proudly, holding up a flier that was ripped at the corners, as if he had pulled it off of a bulletin board.

Juliet took the paper from him. It was a handwritten flier that had been photocopied, and it said "**RENOVATING? Need repairs? Let us help you find the best deals! We know contractors and we can match you with the ones that fit your needs. LOWEST PRICES GUARANTEED!**" The phone number was listed, and then there were tear-off tabs cut into the bottom of the page with the number as well.

"Okay...what does this have to do with Riley North?"

Shawn pointed at the paper. "That IS Riley North. It's his scam. I talked to Gina...Mrs. North...earlier and she gave me some information about Riley and her sons. She said he was a con man but had no patience to see a con through, which made me think of get-rich-quick type scams, which made me think of house-flipping scams because all of the houses were being renovated." Shawn paused then, and put his hand to his temple. "That's when I got the vibes. Well, it was when Gus and I were walking past a bulletin board at the mall after refueling with some delicious fruit smoothies."

Juliet crossed her arms and tilted her head, waiting for Shawn to get on with it. Sometimes he could put just a bit too much detail into recounting his discoveries.

"Yeah," said Gus grimacing. "He vibed his face right into that flier. Scared a couple of old ladies walking past."

"Gus told them I was having a Cesarean."

"Seizure, Shawn! Seizure!"

"Exactly. Anyway, the spirits told me that flier had something to do with the burglaries, and when we came here to check, we found that phone number on all of the records. Riley North got their information, put them in contact with contractors, and then he kept track of their schedules in order to know when he could break into the houses. And his trail was hard to find because it was so low-tech. All of the owners wanted to renovate as cheaply as possible and found a crappy bulletin board offer too good to pass up."

"And it was too good to be true. That's why they say what they say," said Gus smugly.

"What do they say?" asked Shawn.

"That it's too good to be true."

"But what if it was true? Maybe he really did get good contractor deals for those people."

"But then he robbed their homes," said Gus.

"He still got good deals with the contractors!"

"Shawn!"

Juliet smiled and shook her head at the two friends. "Great work guys!"

She walked over to knock on the chief's door. It was time to get a search warrant. If they could close the case, she was sure it would speed up her partner's reinstatement. That way, he could get back to himself and things could get back to normal.

oOoOoOoO

Lassiter buttoned his shirt and reached for a tie. Then he thought better of it and unbuttoned the top button of the shirt again. He looked at himself in the mirror and grimaced. He had no idea how to dress for a "date" at his own house when he was on suspension from work, no less. He silently cursed his partner again as he grabbed his suit coat. Coat with no tie? Coat and tie? No coat and no tie? He growled and tossed the coat and tie back onto his bed, stalking out of the room to check the rest of the apartment again. He spent so much time at work that clutter was rarely a problem for him. He'd put away whatever various things had built up over the last couple of crazy days, and the place looked good enough. He hoped. He realized with a small thrill of fearful anticipation that this was really happening and Lisa was going to be over any minute. He also realized with a sense of awe that he had actually forgotten about the shooting for several minutes in a row during his initial panic, cleaning, and re-dressing spree. Silently thanking his partner, he walked into the kitchen area to make sure everything was in order and that the garbage didn't smell too bad.

The doorbell rang and his heart yo-yoed to his stomach and back again. He brushed at his hair absently and cleared his throat as he walked to the door. When he opened it, he saw Lisa with her head lowered as she fidgeted with straightening her shirt. She looked up quickly and gave him a half-amused, half-embarrassed smile.

"Hi, Carlton," she said warmly.

He cleared his throat again and tried to smile, hoping it didn't look too much like a grimace. The whole situation just seemed so odd, but he had to admit that it wasn't really in a bad way. "Hi, Lisa. Um, come on in," he said as he stood aside and held the door open for her to enter.

"Thanks."

Lassiter glanced out at the street as she walked past him and noticed a dented and dirty late-model Buick parked on the other side of the road and down a few houses. He wondered for a moment if it could be Lisa's car, but then he saw a Toyota parked in front of his place, figuring that was more her style. His brain registered the details of the Buick and shelved the information under "possible visitors for neighbors down the street" as he turned to follow Lisa into the apartment. He promptly forgot the car as he started to think desperately about what to say next to the woman in his kitchen.

An hour later, they were sitting on opposite ends of the couch finishing off the bottle of wine that Lisa had picked up on her way over. The wine had created a pleasant glow in Lassiter's chest, and he'd loosened up enough to feel almost playful.

"But seriously, Thought Police?" he asked with mock indignation. They had been reviewing the conversation from their prior date, much to Lisa's dismay, and he couldn't help getting another dig in. She was playing along happily.

"No! I just meant that the Thought Police would like the same things you like, not that you were the Thought Police. There's totally a difference there," she said sarcastically.

"Oh, okay, I get it," he answered with a roll of his eyes. Then he cleared his throat and dropped the teasing tone. "Thank you, Lisa, for bringing the food...and for staying. This has been really nice."

She smiled and blushed slightly, "I should thank you for letting me come over, and I should thank Juliet for sending me. Also, that food was just awesome. She has great taste!"

Lassiter nodded. "Yes, she does," he said with a proud half-smile. "She's a great partner."

"She says the same of you."

A brief flash of uncertainty crossed Lassiter's expression as he tilted his head and stared at a spot on the floor. "I hope so."

"Oh, I know so," said Lisa. "Believe it."

He looked at her again and felt suddenly uncomfortable. "Um, do you want some coffee?"

She looked at her watch. "No, I should probably get going. I have to be at work early tomorrow," she said, then she glanced suddenly at Lassiter with a look of fear, as if she was afraid she'd said something wrong.

He realized she was embarrassed about bringing up the topic of work and tried to don a reassuring expression. "Of course. I like to go in early, too."

She sighed and pursed her lips. "I know we've talked around it tonight, but I did want to ask you how you're doing. If you don't want to talk about it, I understand, but I want you to know that I would be very happy to listen and to help in any way I can."

He swallowed and then took a deep breath. "It's okay. I think I'm going to be fine," he said, realizing that he really meant it. The evening had seemed to unlock the last of the anguish he'd been holding in about the shooting. He knew he'd still have to work through the feelings for a while, but he didn't feel as much like they were locked up and twisting his insides. He gave her a sincere look. "And you've already helped."

She blushed again, which gave him a warm feeling inside, and then she smiled wryly and said, "Well, I'm happy to hear that. And you're right, you are going to be fine. You're a great detective, Carlton, and everyone at the station has a lot of respect for you."

It was his turn to blush as he ducked his head in embarrassment. There was a long, awkward moment of silent tension.

"Okay," she said briskly as she stood up. He looked at her again and saw that her face still seemed flushed. She put her glass down on the coffee table. "I really should go now."

He stood and put his glass down too. He felt a sudden and unexplained spike of what seemed to be fear, although he had no idea why he would feel that way. He decided it was just because he'd had such a nice evening that the subject of the shooting had stirred up the negative thoughts for a moment, and the juxtaposition with the pleasant conversation seemed jarring. Still, his brow furrowed for a moment as he tried to figure out the feeling. Lisa retrieved her purse from the kitchen table as he followed her, head bowed in thought. She turned to face him near the door and gazed at him for a moment.

"Are you okay?" she asked, noticing his sudden change in mood.

He blinked. "Yeah," he said, mentally shaking himself out of the weird, sudden funk. "I'm fine. So, um, thanks again for coming over. We should, you know, do this again sometime."

She smiled and nodded. "Yes, and soon, if you don't mind," she said, eyes twinkling.

He returned the smile and said, "Absolutely."

There was another awkward moment of tension as they both seemed to suddenly contemplate the idea of a hug or other such contact. Their eyes met, mirrors of uncertain discomfort, and then Lisa laughed and shook her head as she leaned in to give him a quick hug. She moved so quickly that he ended up just standing through her embrace with his arms out, failing to return it and then feeling somewhat foolish when she broke the connection before he could reciprocate.

"Good night, Carlton. Try to get some rest."

"Sure," he said with a shy smile. "You too."

He leaned over to open the door for her and held it open as she walked out. After she went down the steps she turned one last time and gave him a smile and a wave. He raised his hand in return and stepped back into his house. As he turned he caught sight of the junky Buick again, but his thoughts were focused on the strange mixture of warmth and cold that seemed to be waging a battle in his chest. He was happy and anxious at the same time, and the clash of feelings nagged at him like a forgotten task.

He picked up the dinner plates and put them on the counter, then he walked into the living room to retrieve the wine glasses. His thoughts drifted aimlessly. He tried to care about identifying the nagging feeling but mostly he was just enjoying the memories of the evening. Lisa was someone he could talk to easily, and even though it was still early, he really thought she was someone he could have a relationship with. He hadn't felt that way about anyone in years, and the feeling was almost alien to him, but in a wonderful way.

His phone rang. He stopped in his tracks and twisted to look at the cell phone on the coffee table. For some reason, all of his senses seemed to snap into high gear, and as the second ring sounded out, he heard the noise of a revved engine and tires screeching outside. His heart started to race disconcertingly. As the third ring started, he shoved the wine glasses onto the kitchen table and ran towards the phone. He picked it up and pushed the talk button, feeling an incongruous rush of fear.

"Hello."

"Is this your house? Oh my god, he said we were just casing another target. This is your house?" The voice was no longer whispered, but it was in a high-pitched panic.

"Who are you? Is this Braden North?" asked Lassiter, following his hunch. He felt the boy's panic as if it was contagious, and his fear was suddenly real. "Are you outside my apartment?"

"He took her! You have to help her! I didn't know what he was doing! Oh my god, you have to stop him!"

Lassiter's heart literally stopped beating, he was sure of it. His eyes flew to the door as if he could see through the wood and the stone of the wall. He remembered the sound of screeching tires and was running for the door before he was even conscious of moving. He pulled it open violently, but before he ran out he turned and dove for the nearest kitchen drawer, retrieving one of his guns from it and grabbing his car keys from the counter. He rushed outside and down the steps, scanning the road desperately. The old Buick was still parked across the street. Lisa's Toyota was gone, but when he peered down to the farthest point of his road, he could see taillights glowing in the darkness as a car took a right turn at the adjoining street and disappeared. Lassiter turned to his car and saw that his tires were flat. All of them. He turned back to the road and started to run. He tucked the gun into his waistband and pulled out the phone that he didn't remember stuffing into his pocket. He dialed the station as he ran. He gasped out his location and situation, saying that a woman had been carjacked. The dispatcher seemed to catch the contagious panic and reassured him after a moment that units were in the area and were on the way. Lassiter was unaware of stuffing the phone into his pocket again as he ran.

His racing mind seemed to exist on two levels, one of sheer focus as his vision tunneled to the end of the road and everything else around him disappeared, and the other of detached, horrified observation, as if he was a spectator watching himself in a movie while screaming uselessly at the screen. _This can't be happening, this can't be happening, this can't be happening._ He didn't feel his lungs burning when he reached the end of the road. He took the right turn at full speed and stumbled, falling to his knees and catching himself on the palms of his hands. He thought he heard a faint popping noise and didn't hear himself chanting a mantra of "No, no, no, no." He lunged to his feet and kept running, the narrow scope of his vision widening as he scanned the street for any cars. None were in sight. It was just a quiet evening in a residential area. He didn't hear the sobbing gasp of frustration that he released then. He just kept running. At the next intersection he paused and looked both ways, but there were only parked cars that weren't Toyotas. He heard a siren up ahead and a squeal of brakes. He could see reflections of the red and blue flashes at the next street. He ran.

When he rounded the next corner, he saw the Toyota stopped at an angle in the middle of the residential street with both doors open. He saw a squad car pulled up at an angle in front of the Toyota. He saw Buzz McNab standing at the driver's door of the Toyota, with one hand over his mouth as he pulled his other hand back from within the car. He didn't hear the strangled roar he let loose as he ran. Buzz stood up and saw him coming, eyes widening in fear or panic or concern or something else that Lassiter couldn't make himself care about. He just had to get to the car. He didn't want to, and he had to. As he got closer, he staggered to a walk, lungs scorching and legs spent, but he didn't feel them. The tunnel was back, and it was focused on the form he could now see in the car, backlit by red and blue flashes. She was leaning over slightly, head bowed. He kept walking, but suddenly a blue wall blocked his path.

"Please, Detective Lassiter, don't," said Buzz, moving in front of him and holding his hands out to his sides. His voice was pleading but his physical presence was unyielding.

Lassiter put a hand on Buzz's chest and tried to push him backwards out of the way, but to no avail. He kept looking through the officer, the image of her form in the car the only image registering in his brain. He put both hands on Buzz's chest and pushed harder. He didn't hear himself saying, "Move! Move!"

"No!" said Buzz desperately, grabbing Lassiter's upper arms and countering his insistent push. "She's gone, detective."

Lassiter's crazed stare broke and he focused fully on Buzz's anguished face, eyes blazing. He didn't notice two more units pull up and the other officers jump out to join the scene. He grabbed the front of Buzz's shirt in his fists and tried to shake the larger man. "Get out of my way!" he screamed hoarsely.

"Please," said Buzz, still holding his upper arms.

Lassiter jerked backwards, freeing his arms from Buzz's grip. He moved towards the car and when Buzz tried to block his path again he threw a punch that caught the junior officer a glancing blow on his jaw as he ducked away from the worst of the swing. He was grabbed from behind and tried to twist out of the other officer's grip, only conscious of his need to get to her car. 

"No, no," said Buzz sadly, eyes shining brightly in the flashing lights. He held a hand to his jaw while waving his other hand at the officer. "Just let him go."

Lassiter's gaze was focused solely on the car as he strained to approach. When he was released, he stepped up next to the open driver's door and felt himself stop breathing. He saw her hands limp at her sides. He saw her head bowed as if she'd fallen asleep. He saw the hole in the side of her chest and the red stain. His fingers twitched as if he was feeling the sticky blood on them again, the kid's blood covering his hands, and now her blood too. He could swear the ground cracked under his feet. He felt it fall away into the abyss as he stood still and stared.


	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

Juliet knocked on the door one more time and yelled, "This is Detective Juliet O'Hara of the SBPD. We have a search warrant. Open this door, now!"

There was still no sound or sign of life from the other side, so Juliet nodded at the superintendent of the seedy apartment building. He stepped forward and unlocked the door, looking bored, as if he had to do this sort of thing for the police often. Shawn had no doubt that was the case as he stood back behind the three other officers who had accompanied them to the apartment. Gus stood next to him with his hand half-covering his nose. Something was obviously offending the Super-Sniffer, although Shawn didn't think the place smelled half as bad as it looked.

After the superintendent stepped away, Juliet nodded to Sanchez who pushed through the door first, gun raised. Juliet followed on his heels and then the other two officers flanked them. After several shouts of "Clear!" Shawn and Gus stepped through the door. The place had obviously been abandoned. The only sign that anyone had occupied it recently at all was a bag of garbage on the floor in the tiny kitchen area. Shawn figured that Riley North had just used the place as a front for his scam and hadn't actually lived in it full time. Shawn wandered through the small space as Juliet and the other officers did their officer-type things. The apartment only consisted of a living room that contained the kitchen area, one bedroom and one bathroom.

After checking the other rooms, and noting sand on the bathroom floor, Shawn walked back to the kitchen and nudged the garbage bag with his toe, wondering why they hadn't taken it out when they'd left. The whole place had been so meticulously cleared and cleaned it seemed odd that they would leave it behind. The bag wasn't securely closed, so he pushed at it again trying to make the top open a bit more. Juliet shot him a warning look when she saw him pushing at the bag. He gave her his best innocent smile and held up his hands. She narrowed her eyes at him. He grimaced and took a step away from the bag, thinking that Jules was totally catching on to him.

Gus hovered near the door to the apartment. A flash of inspiration hit Shawn and he looked up at the ceiling. "Gus! Check this out!" he said with his head tilted back. Out of the corner of his eye he could see his friend looking up as he walked over to join him.

"What is it?"

"I don't know, man, but it's so weird," he said, watching peripherally as Gus got closer and closer while still looking up at the phantom spot Shawn was studying. Finally, as he stepped up next to him, he kicked over the garbage bag. Its contents spilled across the kitchen floor.

"What are you guys doing?" barked Juliet, walking over to them.

Shawn pointed at Gus. "He did it!" he said as he scanned the garbage, squinting to read some receipts and noticing two pizza boxes.

"Shawn!" said Gus indignantly. "You made me do that."

Juliet sighed and said, "Just go now, you guys. Get out in the hallway, please."

"But..." said Shawn and Gus simultaneously.

Juliet had opened her mouth to lecture them some more when her cell phone rang. She held up a warning finger and answered the phone. After a moment, her expression turned to horror and Shawn felt his heart beat faster as he watched her. She put a hand to her mouth as she listened further and closed her eyes. Her face had drained of all color.

"Jules?" said Shawn, feeling more and more frightened.

"What happened?" asked Gus.

"Okay," she said quietly into the phone. Suddenly her eyes widened at something she heard on the other end of the line. "Follow him! We'll be right there!" She hung up and looked at Shawn and Gus with a stunned expression. "It's Lisa Michaelson. She's been killed."

Shawn and Gus exchanged a confused look for a moment as Juliet spoke quickly to one of the other officers. Shawn finally remembered the name as the woman Jules had sent to Lassiter's place with the delicious-smelling Italian food. "Lassie's date?" he asked incredulously.

Gus's eyes widened as he realized who they were talking about. "Oh my god, just now? Was she with Lassie?"

"Yes, or she'd just left. I'm not sure," said Juliet, sounding more flustered than Shawn had ever remembered her sounding. "That was Buzz, and as I was talking to him Carlton ran off. I need to get over there."

"Ran off?" asked Shawn, shaking his head in confusion.

"We're coming with you," said Gus firmly.

"So, is this related to the shooting?" he asked wonderingly.

Juliet shook her head and shrugged, wiping at her eyes as she walked quickly out of the apartment. Shawn and Gus rushed to follow.

oOoOoOoO

Lassiter could hear voices murmuring around him like a cloud of gnats. Still, he stared, and after a moment or an eternity, he started to reach out. He thought he should touch her, to be sure she wasn't breathing, or to say goodbye, or something. He heard someone say his name, warningly or pleadingly or both. He stood still again, hand outstretched, and when he looked at it, it was red from the flashing lights, causing him to draw in a sharp, choking breath. The world crashed in on him then, sounds suddenly loud and the air crisp in the night and Buzz's hand heavy on his shoulder. He could hear Buzz talking to someone and he somehow knew he was talking to Juliet on the phone, his subconscious having noted it. He blinked as if waking, seeing Lisa's body in the car as if it was a dream, and then he remembered the Buick. He turned and ran.

He heard Buzz's surprised shout behind him and after another moment the pounding of feet, but he just ran. _How could I be so stupid? Why didn't I watch her get in her car and drive away? I knew that car shouldn't have been there. I just got her killed. I killed her. I killed her. I killed her._ His brain kept repeating the phrase to the beat of his running steps. He knew the car would be gone, but he ran anyway. It was the only thing he could do for her now. He stumbled around the corner of his street, catching himself with his hand again. This time, he felt the sharp pain in his hands and knees. He glanced down, noticing the bloody scrape across his palm. He could feel that his knees were in the same shape. He just kept running. Buzz called out to him as he followed, but Lassiter wasn't going to stop until he did what he needed to do.

The car was gone. Its absence was an accusation, and he slowed to a faltering walk as he approached the space it had occupied. There was a fresh oil spot on the asphalt, shining in the street lights. He walked slower and slower until he was standing where the driver of the car would've been, then he looked around. The car was nowhere in sight. Buzz was just catching up finally, gasping and staring at him as if he was some kind of monster. Lassiter put his hands on his hips, realizing that he was wheezing and having trouble catching his breath. He looked down at the parking space again and noticed something on the ground. It was a cigarette butt, freshly spent. He squatted down and grabbed it before Buzz got too close. He slipped it into his shirt pocket as the junior officer reached his side.

"Detective," gasped Buzz. "Why did you run back here?"

Lassiter stood up and shook his head, noticing once again that he was having difficulty breathing. A small corner of his mind registered worry, finally. Buzz seemed to notice as well.

"Are you okay? Maybe you should sit down," he said, motioning to the curb next to the oil spot.

Lassiter shook his head again and turned away. He didn't want to be near the space any longer. He started to walk towards his house. Buzz followed, radiating concern. When he reached his sidewalk, he turned and sat down heavily with elbows on knees and lowered his head, but the position constricted his straining lungs. He reversed and laid out on his back instead, knees still bent, and put his hands on his head as his lungs continued their rebellion. He could hear Buzz talking into his radio, then he felt his looming shadow as he stepped up to his side.

"Breathe through your nose," said Buzz as he squatted down next to Lassiter. He reached a hand out. "Pinch one of your nostrils closed."

Lassiter slapped at Buzz's hand, not sure if he'd been about to touch his nose and not caring to find out. "Back off," he hissed.

"I'm sorry, detective," said Buzz with one of his standard puppy-dog looks. Then his brow furrowed. "Why did you run back here, sir?"

Lassiter focused on his breathing for a few moments, trying to think of what to say. Then he realized what he was doing and had a small, quick argument with himself. _Why are you hiding things? I'm going to fix this. What do you think you're doing? I'm doing what needs to be done. She was killed because of me. They're going to hold me back. They're going to think I'm in danger now. Vick is going to put a guard on me. I need to fix this_. He blinked up at the faint stars struggling to be seen through the haze of a city night. _What am I doing?_ He felt a strange detachment, as if his real self was suddenly pushed into the background by the shock and horror of the night. And by the seething anger that he felt boiling up from his core. He had to keep a rein on it, though. He had to figure out how to do what he was suddenly driven to do. For the first time since the shooting, things seemed clear to him. He had a single, simple goal. Get Riley North. He took what finally felt like a normal breath and said, "I thought I saw something over there earlier. Before it happened. I wanted to see if it was still there."

Buzz twisted to look across the street. "What did you see?"

"I don't know. Maybe a person. I don't know."

Buzz's brow furrowed deeper as he looked back at Lassiter. He seemed to have more questions, but he held them in. The sound of sirens reached them. Buzz stood as cars pulled up nearby. Lassiter kept staring at the hazy sky, preparing himself, making plans. Footsteps approached.

"Detective Lassiter, are you injured?" said Chief Vick as she stepped into view next to him.

"No, ma'am," he said evenly.

She squinted her eyes at him and then looked around, her gaze obviously lingering for a moment on his slashed tires. "I think we should move indoors. Can we go into your apartment, please?"

"Okay," he said. He sat up and felt both Buzz and Vick put their hands on his arms as he got to his feet. He closed his eyes against a wave of dizziness, then he turned and walked up his steps, knees stinging badly. The door was still standing open.

He walked into his kitchen and looked down at the two wine glasses on the table. He put his hands on his face and turned away, walking into the living room instead. He looked at the couch and images surfaced. He put his hands on his head, turning again, looking for an escape. Chief Vick stood in his kitchen watching him with an expression of helpless concern. Although, to him it looked more like pity. A strangled growl escaped him before he could stop it as he paced back into the living room.

"Carlton, can you sit down?" she asked calmly, as if talking to a frenzied animal.

He gave a half-shrug, half head-shake movement that probably looked like some kind of odd convulsion as he continued to pace. He held his hands out in front of him to look at his bloodied palms, but doing so brought more unwelcome visions.

"I need to wash my hands," he said, hearing the echo of himself from two days earlier. He shuddered and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, fighting for control. He tried to focus on his new goal, on the simplicity of it and on how he was going to make it happen. It promised salvation from the haunting images and smothering guilt.

"Can you do it over here, in the kitchen sink?" asked Vick.

Lassiter's eyes snapped open and he turned to look at her. She still just had a concerned look on her face, but he wondered if she'd said that because she didn't want him to go into the bathroom alone. A coldness filled his chest. His eyes narrowed and he cleared his throat. "Of course," he said, walking into the kitchen. Vick stood nearby and watched as he rinsed off the road grit and streaks of blood. Buzz hovered near the open door, looking like he wanted nothing better than to escape into the night.

"Carlton, can you tell me what happened?" asked Vick with the soothing voice again.

He turned off the taps and grabbed a dish towel to dab his hands dry, then he turned and leaned back against the counter. "Lisa brought over some food for me," he began, voice monotone. "We ate and talked for a while. About an hour or so. She left..." He trailed off then, stumbling into the issue of the phone calls.

He was saved for the moment by the sound of voices outside as Juliet, Shawn and Gus arrived. The three of them rushed into the apartment with Juliet in the lead, but when she saw Lassiter at the sink, she stopped suddenly, causing Shawn and Gus to bump into each other in their effort to not plow into her.

"Carlton," she said, sounding breathless and appearing slightly nauseated. She looked like she wanted to say more, or wanted to run over to him, but there was suddenly a yawning gulf between them. She managed to whisper, "I'm so sorry."

He stared at her, not sure if he was glaring, and finding himself oddly not caring. He thought about how she'd sent Lisa over with the food, how she'd encouraged him to date her, and he felt what he knew to be unfair anger. But then he thought about how she was supposed to be the one at his house that evening, and a spike of fear or guilt or both stabbed at his gut. Maybe she had been the target. He could've lost his partner. He dropped his eyes to the floor under a wave of despair. It was all on him, not Juliet or anyone else. It was simple. He was the cause of all of this suffering and he had to set it right. He swallowed thickly. "Me too," was all he said.

Shawn looked back and forth between the two of them for a moment in puzzlement. He said with a subdued voice, "Lassie, we're going to figure out who did this."

Lassiter looked at Shawn, feeling the coldness in his chest spreading throughout his body. He needed to get away. He had to figure out how to get away from them all. He had to find Riley North. Alone. But he didn't know where to start. He hadn't been involved in the investigation since the shooting. But Shawn and Gus had. Lassiter's eyes narrowed. "I hope so," he said evenly.

oOoOoOoO

Shawn's eyebrows raised at Lassie's weirdly cold tone and he shot Gus a look. Gus pursed his lips and gave him a hint of a shrug. Shawn turned back to scan the room, noting the two wine glasses and the rings from those glasses on the coffee table. It looked like they'd sat on the couch for a while, talking, he supposed. He rubbed a hand across his mouth, remembering the images from the crime scene. They'd driven past Lisa's car on the way to Lassiter's place, so Juliet had pulled over to check the scene and talk to the detectives who had taken charge of it. Shawn had gotten out and looked into the car. Lisa had been in the driver's seat, so whoever had shot her had been in the passenger seat. She'd been shot in the right side of her chest. Shawn had noted some sand on the passenger-side floor of her car, and none on the driver's-side floor.

Chief Vick cleared her throat. "Okay people, we need to get on this. First, we must determine if this...incident...is related to the North case," she said.

Shawn shook his head, incredulous. "Well, of course it is," he said. "Who carjacks a woman in this neighborhood, from in front of a cop's house no less?"

Lassiter crossed his arms tightly and closed his eyes.

"Did you see anything Carlton?" asked Juliet, voice quiet. She still seemed shaken, and Shawn felt like putting an arm around her shoulders in support.

Lassiter shook his head, staring at a spot on the floor. "No. When she left, I saw her to the door, but I didn't watch her get into her car," he said as if he was confessing to her murder himself. "I was putting things away, and I heard something outside..." He paused again as a red flush crept up his face.

Shawn studied him intently. Something seemed off. Of course he wasn't acting normal, who could? But still, his behavior had Shawn's internal alarms sounding.

Lassiter cleared his throat. "I heard an engine rev, and tires screeching. I ran to the door and saw the car driving away. I could tell there was someone else in it." He spoke the last words with an even more dead sounding monotone, and then he fidgeted and cleared his throat. "I grabbed a gun and my car keys and ran outside, but my tires have all been slashed. So I ran after them and called in while I was running."

Shawn walked over to stand next to Gus.

"Excuse me, sir," said Buzz from the doorway. "You said you thought you saw someone across the street? Or something?"

Lassiter skewered Buzz with a glance and then nodded as he returned his gaze to the floor. "Yeah. When Lisa first arrived, I just glimpsed someone over there, but I didn't pay attention. I was...preoccupied. After..." he stopped for a few long moments and everyone started to shift around uncomfortably in the silence. "After I caught up...I..." He straightened abruptly and put his hands on his face as he started to pace back and forth across the kitchen floor. "I ran back here, when I remembered, to see if anything was there." He finished the last part in a rush, as if he was pushing unwanted words out of his mouth, then he just shook his head, as if to say he'd found nothing.

Shawn sidled up to Gus and gave him a nudge with his elbow. Gus looked at Shawn sadly, appearing almost on the verge of sympathy crying. "I think he's not telling us something, Gus," whispered Shawn as quietly as he could.

Gus's eyes widened, but then he reined in his reaction when Shawn held up a warning hand.

"He's holding something back," said Shawn.

Gus looked flabbergasted. "Why would he do that?" he hissed.

Shawn just shook his head as Juliet spoke up again.

"Carlton, you couldn't have prevented this," said Juliet, sounding desperate to lend some kind of support to her partner. She still looked completely shaken and on the verge of tears. Shawn realized that she must be feeling responsible since she'd sent Lisa over with the dinner.

Lassiter chopped his hand through the air sharply and barked, "Not that! Not now!" His face darkened as he visibly stopped himself from continuing the outburst. He turned away from them all and leaned on his hands against the kitchen counter, head lowered.

They had all jumped at his yell, but Juliet flinched the worst and had to choke back a sob as she started to lose ground on the fight against crying. Shawn took a step towards her. Chief Vick ran a hand through her hair and cleared her throat. "Let's all just take a few moments to relax, here," she said. "I'm going to step outside to coordinate the investigation. All of you, just stay put, for now. When I get back, we will discuss the next steps we're going to take."

Shawn moved to Juliet's side as the chief walked out the door pulling Buzz along in her wake. He could see that she was shaking as she stood with her fingers pressed to her temples and her eyes squeezed shut. "Hey, Jules," he said gently, putting out a hand to touch her arm. "Don't blame yourself. You couldn't have known. Right, Lassie?" Shawn asked the last part sharply, hoping to snap Lassiter out of his emotional turmoil enough so that he could help his partner out of hers.

Lassiter tensed, but he straightened and turned to face them, his expression cold and emotionless again. A hint of pain flashed through his eyes, though, when he looked at Juliet, and he said, "It's not your fault, O'Hara."

Juliet looked at Lassiter again and repeated, "I'm so sorry, Carlton."

More pain crossed Lassiter's face and he nodded, but then he took a breath and the icy glare returned. Shawn studied him for a moment, but he could feel that Juliet was still shaking, so he stepped closer to her and put out his arms as an offer. She hesitated briefly, but then she leaned into him and accepted a hug as she continued to fight for control. Shawn looked at Lassiter over Juliet's shoulder. Their eyes met for a moment, and the cold anger in Lassiter's gaze set off Shawn's alarms again. Shawn could see that he was fighting for control like Juliet, but he thought it was more of a fight against pure rage than grief. Lassiter seemed to sense that Shawn was catching on to him. He cleared his throat and fidgeted. He pulled his car keys out of his right pocket and tossed them onto the counter. Juliet pulled out of the hug at the sound and wiped at her face. She took a deep breath and cleared her throat.

"Let's talk this through," she said, voice stronger as she got back to business. "Lisa was carjacked right after leaving. It's improbable that a random carjacker would be in this neighborhood at this time of night. If it was just someone stealing a car, they would do it much later when people are more likely sleeping."

"Robbery? You know, a mugging gone bad?" asked Gus. He was leaning against the wall near the front door, arms crossed tightly.

"No," said Juliet grimly. "Lisa's purse and wallet were still in the car."

Lassiter flinched. He put his hands in his pockets and then pulled something halfway out of his left pocket which Shawn saw was his cell phone. Lassiter looked down, as if he didn't know what it was, and then he suddenly looked frightened. He looked up again and caught Shawn studying him. He grimaced and shifted his feet.

"I need to go do something," he said vaguely as he headed to his bedroom. They all watched him go inside and shut the door.

"There's something wrong with him," said Shawn, gazing at the closed door for a moment while trying to figure out Lassie's odd behavior. When he turned around he saw Gus and Juliet both looking at him like he was an idiot. "I don't mean that! I mean...oh never mind." He walked over to Lassie's room.

"Shawn!" hissed Gus. "What are you doing?"

Juliet simultaneously said, "Shawn, don't!"

Shawn strode purposefully over to the door and opened it without knocking. Lassiter was standing by his bed with his suit coat on. His back was to the door and he was looking down at something in his hands. He whirled around at Shawn's entrance, looking surprised and guilty. Shawn saw that he was holding a gun.

"Whoa, dude!" hissed Shawn as he closed the door quickly behind him. He wasn't sure what Lassie was planning with the gun, but he didn't want to cause Juliet undue concern until he figured it out. "What are you going to do with that?" 

Lassiter gazed down at the gun for a moment, an indecipherable look on his face. Shawn's mind was racing. Maybe Lisa's murder had been the last straw, and Lassie's odd behavior was due to him having a breakdown. Shawn still couldn't imagine Lassie ever being suicidal, but how could he be so sure? The guy was awfully cranky most of the time. And he was lonely. Shawn swallowed and tried to think about what you were supposed to do when talking down a suicidal person.

"I was, uh," stuttered Lassiter, keeping his eyes down, then he tossed the gun onto the bed. "Nothing."

"Look, Lassie, don't, you know, don't give up, man," said Shawn, trying desperately to think of something better to say. "It was a horrible thing, but we'll help you get through it. And we'll catch the guy, too."

Lassiter glanced at Shawn looking more surprised than anything, but then his eyes narrowed for the briefest of instants as he took a step back and sat down on the bed. "It's just, um," he began, then he scrubbed his face with his hands as a low sound of frustrated agitation rumbled in his throat. He looked up with an expression of pure anguish. "I killed her. I didn't pull the trigger, but she's dead because of me."

"You know that's not true," said Shawn.

"How is it not true?" he asked with an edge to his voice as he put his hands down to grip the edge of the bed tightly, arms stiff and shoulders hunched.

Shawn shrugged helplessly and put his hands out. "It's just...not!" he said. He looked at Lassiter sitting there with his rumpled shirt and scuffed up pants. He could see rips in the fabric of the pants at the knees and stains coming through. And then he had the fresh suit coat. He looked like a hobo who had found a new coat in a dumpster. "Look, I want to help you. I'm going to help you, okay? Just hang on. Juliet needs you, so you can't do anything stupid or we'll all, like, totally hate you. Or something."

Lassiter closed his eyes and shook his head. "I'm just so sick of feeling useless and pitied. I can't work on the case. I can't even know what's happening on the damned case!" he growled, looking like he wanted to punch something and having to settle for gripping the edge of the bed until his knuckles turned white.

Shawn looked around as if for help, noting the tie on the bed under the gun. He realized Lassie had probably been thinking about wearing a tie or not for his date and had decided against it. The thought of Lassie getting ready for the date sent a shock of despair through Shawn. The guy had such bad luck with women, and then it looked like he'd had a nice evening. He'd made the right choice to go without a tie and they'd shared a bottle of wine and then she'd been ambushed and killed. And it really was because of him, Shawn knew. Lassie had killed Riley North's son, and now Riley North had taken revenge. Lisa had just been in the wrong place. Juliet's place, Shawn remembered with a flash of anger. It could've been Juliet. They really did need to catch the guy, as soon as possible.

"Hey, I know there are rules, or something, about you and the case, but I could keep you in the loop," said Shawn tentatively, half-expecting Lassiter to lecture him about procedure. He figured if feeding Lassie some information would keep him from falling into despair, though, then the rules could take the abuse. "Maybe you'll have some ideas to add, to help us out."

Lassiter's brow furrowed as he considered Shawn's words. He looked like he was having an argument with himself. After a moment, he looked at Shawn with a faintly hopeful and slightly guilt-tinged expression. "Have you found Riley North?"

"Almost," said Shawn with a grimace as he stuffed his hands in his pockets. "We got an address, but it's been abandoned already."

Lassiter's eyebrows shot up at the news. "Damn. No other leads?"

Shawn shrugged. "Well, I have an idea..."

"What is it?"

"I think they're probably on or near the beach now."

Lassiter blinked and said dryly, "There's a lot of beach."

"True," said Shawn with a faint smirk. "But not a lot of beach that has a Jo-Jo's Pizzeria. I'm not sure, but it doesn't sound like a chain."

Something bright flashed in Lassiter's eyes and his face hardened. He looked down at the floor as if lost in thought. There was a knock at the door.

"Carlton, Shawn, the chief is back and wants to talk to us," said Juliet through the door.

"Okay," said Shawn loud enough for her to hear. He looked at Lassiter again. "Come on, man. Let's get to work. Maybe the chief will let you in on the investigation."

Lassiter looked around, keeping his eyes from meeting Shawn's. "Go ahead. I still want to change," he said, picking at the fabric sticking to his knees. "I'll be out in a minute."

Shawn regarded him closely, wondering if he should leave him alone. He didn't seem as depressed and wasn't acting so strangely anymore, so he decided it would be okay. He was pleased with himself for helping Lassie out of the funk he'd been in. "Okay. I'll cover for you," he said with a grin.

Lassiter gave him a quick, half-smile and nodded. "Thanks."

oOoOoOoO

As soon as Shawn had closed the door, Lassiter grabbed the gun from the bed and tucked it into his waistband at his back next to the other one he'd put there before Shawn's intrusion. When he'd gone into his room, the first thing he'd done was turn off his phone in case Braden called again. He didn't want the phone ringing in front of everyone else. Then he had put on the suit coat to hide the guns. He was just checking the second gun when Shawn barged in, but it had turned out to be fortuitous timing because of Shawn's incorrect assumption about his intentions. He'd been trying to figure out a way to corner the psychic and grill him for information on Riley North. Letting Shawn assume that he'd become suicidal had worked better. Now he had a location, and he intended to get to it as quickly as possible. He grabbed his regular phone and punched in the number for the taxi service he used whenever he went out drinking. He arranged for a cab to pick him up three blocks away and was told it would arrive in ten minutes. He could hear the voices in his living room and felt a pang of guilt for what he was about to do, but he pushed the feeling aside and focused on his objective. He tried not to think about how his venture might end up being suicidal anyway, career-wise if not literally.

He went into the bathroom and shut the door. He studied the window dubiously. It was a normal window with frosted glass, but it was still fairly small and he wasn't sure he'd fit through it without making noise. Then he gave himself a mental head slap and turned on the water in the sink to full. He opened the window and stuck his head and shoulders out of it. He looked from side to side, but the window opened on the narrow gap between his building and the next, so there was no activity or prying eyes. He spent a few moments pushing himself further through the window, wriggling and using his feet to brace himself on the sink and toilet until he could twist around and sit on the window sill. He raised a leg to pull it through and scraped his already abused knee against the edge of the frame. He gritted his teeth and hissed at the pain, feeling a spark of anger that seemed to ignite the simmering blaze in his chest. He was going to find Riley North, consequences be damned. How could they get any worse than the last couple of days had already been?

After picking his way around the back of his building, he jogged across lawns, keeping to the shadows to avoid being seen by uniforms who had been sent by Vick to canvass the neighborhood. He slowed to a walk when he was on the next block and continued to the arranged corner, lost in thought. He remembered his phone and pulled it out of his pocket to turn it on again, just in case Braden called back. He doubted the kid would call, now, but he didn't want to miss it if he did. When the cab arrived, he told the driver to go to Jo-Jo's Pizzeria on the beach. The guy didn't know where that was either, but at least his GPS unit did. Lassiter sat stiffly in the car, the guns digging into his back, as he watched the city flash past the window. Unbidden images haunted him-Lisa's expressions while they talked, the way her fingers curled around the wine glass-and he felt hollowed out. He thought about how odd it was to feel simultaneously empty and to also have a crushing pressure squeezing his chest so tightly. Crushed and filled with a yawning emptiness. It didn't make sense. Nothing made sense anymore.

The neighborhoods and businesses began to get more rundown as they got closer to the pizza joint. Lassiter recognized the area as one rife with criminal activity and inhabited by several gangs. The cabbie pulled up to the curb outside Jo-Jo's. Lassiter looked inside but saw that it was a pick-up only place.

"Keep driving," he said. "Around the block."

"Just around the block?"

"I'm looking for someone. I just want to drive around."

The cabbie shrugged and pulled into the street again. Over the next twenty minutes, Lassiter directed him to drive in an ever-widening circle outwards from the pizza place. He would have him circle a block, then the next, until a loop was complete, then he'd tell him to move to the next block out from that loop and they'd do it again. He was looking for the Buick, mostly, but he scanned every pedestrian too for anyone who could even possibly be Braden or Riley. He was working on total instinct for that one since he wasn't privy to their descriptions, but it was all he had to work with.

The cabbie shifted in his seat and cleared his throat. "Hey, buddy, if you want to tell me what you're looking for, maybe I can help," he said, the implication clear that he was tiring of the random driving. "Two sets of eyes looking, y'know."

"Sure, okay," said Lassiter, figuring a cabbie would probably have a good eye for other vehicles. "Old Buick, gray with rust spots and some heavy dents in the driver's-side rear panel."

They kept driving in the search pattern. Occasionally Lassiter would tell the cabbie to stop so he could peer down an alley or a side street. He started to get anxious as more time ticked by, knowing that Juliet and the chief had probably put out a BOLO for him by now, after his stunt at the house. Spencer would've told them what they'd talked about and they would know to look in the area of the pizzeria. They had already passed one squad car on the street. Lassiter had ducked down a bit, just in case. The cabbie had noticed and had narrowed his eyes at him, which nearly brought a smirk to Lassiter's face at the ridiculousness of it all.

Finally, as they were cruising down a street about six blocks from the pizza place, Lassiter spotted the Buick parked in an alley. It was off of a street occupied by various small businesses in buildings that had apartments on the upper floors. He saw at least two pawn shops along the street, and three bars. He glanced at the street sign, noting that it was named Olive Street and thinking about how much he hated olives.

"Stop here. I'm done," he said, handing over three twenties to the cabbie to cover expenses and inconvenience.

The cabbie's eyes lit up happily at the tip. "Okay, man. Take it easy."

Lassiter got out of the cab on the other side of the street from the alley. The area was quiet and mostly deserted, only a couple of cars were on the road and a homeless guy was shuffling along further down the block. After the cab drove away he scanned the second-floor apartments, but most had the lights off. He'd lost track of what time it was, guessing it was getting near midnight if not later. He looked around for a good spot to use for his stakeout. A shadowy doorway two buildings over looked promising, so he started to walk towards it. Across the street, a dark figure turned the corner from a side street and walked along the sidewalk. It was a man in a hooded jacket, with the hood up. Lassiter jumped into the shadows of the doorway and studied the figure intently. He thought the size and shape of the man looked familiar, as well as the way he walked. It could be the guy from the Sommer house robbery, which would mean it was either Braden or Riley North. His heart started to race as his adrenaline surged at the thought. The hooded guy hadn't been the shooter. So, it was probably Braden. Part of him tried to argue that he could just be thinking the man's figure and gait looked familiar as wishful thinking. But that was the same part of himself he'd been ignoring since he began hiding things and jumping out of bathroom windows. He'd chosen his path, and he was going to follow it.

When the man reached the alley, he turned down it. Lassiter could see he was smoking a cigarette and remembered the butt he'd found on the road by his place. He stepped out of the shadows and jogged across the street. He entered the alley about thirty feet behind the figure.

"Braden!" he yelled.

The kid spun around and faced him as he rushed forwards. He was about Lassiter's height and was thin and lanky. Lassiter still couldn't see his face in the dark alley with his hood up but he knew he had the right guy now.

"Who...wait...holy shit!" said Braden as he took a step backwards.

"Freeze right there or I will shoot you," said Lassiter. The kid froze. Lassiter walked up to him and grabbed the front of his jacket with both hands, pushing him over to the wall of the building. "You know who I am?"

"Detective Lassiter," said Braden. "I saw you...at your house."

Lassiter scowled. "Where's Riley?"

"How did you find me?"

Lassiter could see the kid's face now in the glow of a security light. He was scared, and an image flashed across Lassiter's memory of his brother Justin having the same expression. He grimaced and gripped Braden's jacket more tightly. He leaned closer and said, "Tell me where your father is."

"Why?"

"He killed my friend," gritted Lassiter through clenched teeth. He was pushing the kid into the wall with some force, and the kid grabbed his forearms, trying to push back.

"What are you going to do? I don't see other cops here. Are you going to shoot him? You just said you'd shoot me," said Braden, his initial shock wearing off enough for him to start protesting. "What kind of cop are you? Did you just kill my brother that way too?"

The words hit Lassiter like a blow. He straightened and eased off the pressure on Braden's chest, although he kept a hold of his jacket. "No! Of course not! I only said that, just now, to make you stop."

"Well then what the hell are you doing? I called you to try to help fix things, not to help you kill my dad."

"She was an innocent woman! A friend!" he yelled into Braden's face. "She had nothing to do with this!"

"I'm sorry!" yelled Braden back, face twisting in anguish. "I didn't know he was going to do that! I tried to help!"

Lassiter glared at the kid. Braden turned his head to look around and Lassiter noticed with a shock that he had a black eye and a cut on his cheek. His eyes narrowed, wondering if Riley had done it. The idea of abuse stoked his anger again, "You can help by telling me where your dad is. He needs to pay."

Braden's eyes flashed with anger as well as a stark hopelessness. "By dying? By being murdered right back? What the fuck is wrong with all of you? You're just like him! Aren't the police supposed to stop murders?" he asked with a gasping sob. Lassiter was taken aback by the kid's desperation. "I just wanted to help. I wanted someone to help me stop him from doing these things. But it's only gotten worse! I wanted to stop my brother from turning into a fucking thug, and then suddenly it's been all death and killing. I just want it all to stop!"

Lassiter growled and released his grip on Braden. He spun in a circle with his hands on his head before running them down over his face, then he turned back to face Braden and put his hands on his hips. He tried to pick through the turmoil of rage and frustration to organize his thoughts. This wasn't going the way he'd expected. The clear, simple purpose had suddenly muddied. Braden stared back at him accusingly. They just regarded each other that way for several long moments.

"She shouldn't have been killed," said Lassiter, voice subdued, the anguish ringing through clearly. "She didn't deserve that."

Braden gave him a helpless look. "No shit, man," he said with exasperation. "My brother shouldn't have been killed either."

Lassiter's face hardened, "Look, I already told you..."

Braden waved his hands at Lassiter dismissively. "I know, dammit! I know. He shot at a cop," said Braden as he rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. "I'm just...I'm sorry. I'm so damned sorry! But how is killing my dad going to fix it? It won't bring my brother back, and it won't bring your friend back."

Lassiter blinked as the bubble of his righteous purpose burst. Of course it wouldn't fix anything. Nothing could fix what had happened. The agony flooded into him again, twisting and cutting him to the core. He squeezed his eyes shut and lowered his head for a moment. He felt like he'd hit the bottom at last, rock bottom and he was buried by tragedy. But feeling that he couldn't get lower, in some odd way, helped him come to terms with it all. Finally, the part of himself he had pushed aside resumed control. The part he could always count on, that was always solid and clear. His belief in the law. He looked up at the kid and saw someone who needed help, wanted help, was asking desperately for help. And the kid was asking specifically for his help. He took a deep breath and realized with a flash of relief that he was ready to do his job again.

"You're right. It wouldn't fix anything," he said contritely. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry all of this has happened."

Braden looked at him warily.

"But he still needs to pay for his crimes," said Lassiter. "He needs to be arrested and put on trial for two murders."

Braden eyed him suspiciously. "I'm not just going to tell you where he is," he said, obviously unconvinced of Lassiter's change of heart.

Lassiter grimaced. "We can call it in, right now, together. We'll wait for units to arrive and then you can tell us where to go."

"How do I know you won't go in shooting?"

"Look," said Lassiter, getting frustrated but trying to rein it in. He didn't want to scare the kid off now. "If he's got a gun and resists arrest, I can't promise anything. But if we can go in and get him disarmed and cuffed, then I will promise you, right now, that he won't be hurt."

"You won't kill him?" asked Braden, clearly asking Lassiter directly and not just generalizing to all police.

"I won't kill him," said Lassiter. He felt something loosen in his chest at the words, as if he'd tied a knot inside himself with his desire to kill the man, and now it was gone. "I promise."

Braden's expression was desperate as he considered turning in his father, but there was also a hint of hopefulness. The kid had been going through a lot too, Lassiter realized. He was torn between wanting his father to stop without getting him hurt in the process. Lassiter felt genuinely sorry for the kid, now, and his new purpose became helping him get through this situation. Braden took a deep breath as if he'd come to a decision.

The sound of rough voices drifted to them from the mouth of the alley. Braden's head snapped up and his eyes widened in fear. Lassiter looked over and saw two large men coming towards them. They were obscured by the darkness of the alley.

"Those are dad's friends," hissed Braden, the whites of his eyes shining from his hood. "They can't see me! They'll tell him."

"Hey! Who's down there?" yelled one of the figures.

"Tell me where he is," growled Lassiter in desperation, feeling the opportunity to capture Riley North suddenly slipping away. "We need to bring him in."

Braden started sidling away along the building's wall. "No time. I'll call you. Don't tell them who you are!" And with that he turned and ran full pelt down the alley and around the nearest corner, hunched over as if ducking gunfire.

Lassiter watched him go, wanting to yell his name to call him back, but he took the kid's warning to heart. He turned to face the two men and saw that they were growing ever larger as they got closer. He took a deep breath and set his jaw.


	6. Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

"I can't believe Lassie played me like that!" griped Shawn for the thousandth time. "I knew he was up to something."

Juliet rolled her eyes, biting back an admonishment. She was so emotionally drained from the night's events that her nerves were shot and control of her temper was almost nonexistent. She gripped the steering wheel and kept scanning the sidewalks and doorways of the neighborhood around Jo-Jo's Pizzeria. Shawn and Gus were sitting in the back seat of the car as they drove around the area in an ever-widening search pattern. Other units were on the alert as well, but they were just operating under a BOLO and weren't actively searching like Juliet. The chief had issued the BOLO for Lassiter after he'd bolted from his apartment, but she had said she didn't think the situation required an all-out manhunt. Juliet and Shawn had argued that it did, but the chief was reluctantly firm on the subject. She had said there wasn't enough evidence that Lassiter was doing anything other than getting away to "clear his head," and that they just had to hope he'd come back soon. Juliet had seen how furious the chief was, though, about it. She was as worried as the rest of them but was unable to justify spending department resources on a wider search.

Chief Vick, red-faced and fuming, had relented a little, at Juliet's insistence, and had allowed them to travel out to Jo-Jo's to look for Lassiter, but if he wasn't there, she'd ordered them to keep their focus on the North case and the search for Riley North. Her argument was that if they found Riley, they wouldn't have to worry about Lassiter's safety anymore. Juliet, however, took the opposite view. She was sure that Lassiter was gunning for Riley, so she figured finding her partner just might be the key to finding North.

"Lassie played you beautifully," said Gus, unable to resist goading his friend. "He played you like Miles plays the horn."

"Like Eddie Van Halen plays the axe," said Shawn, joining in.

"Like..."

"Guys! Just stop!" yelled Juliet.

Shawn grimaced as he gazed out of his window. "Sorry, Jules," he said sincerely. "I'm just a little mad that Lassie lied to me."

"It sounds like he just let you make your own assumptions," said Gus dryly. "So, technically, he didn't lie to you."

"He lied when he said 'I'll be out in a minute'!" sniped Shawn.

"No, he didn't," retorted Gus. "He was pretty much out in a minute after that...out his bathroom window."

Juliet slammed on the brakes in the middle of the street. Shawn and Gus both threw their hands out to stop themselves from crashing into the front seats, eyes wide with shock. Juliet put the car in park and turned around to glare at them. "I...said...stop," she hissed.

Shawn and Gus looked at each other for a long moment as they sat slowly back into their seats, then they turned to her with contrite expressions tinged with fear.

"Okay, Jules," said Shawn soothingly, as if he was talking to a bull ready to charge. "We'll shut up now."

Juliet squeezed her eyes closed and shook her head as she turned away. She braced both hands on the steering wheel for a moment and took three deep breaths. "I'm sorry guys," she started. "I'm just..." She had to stop and swallow a lump in her throat. She couldn't tell what she was, really. She was frightened and angry and grief-stricken all at the same time, and the combination seemed almost impossible to bear. She just wanted to find Lassiter. She couldn't stand the thought of him going out and getting himself hurt, or just as possibly doing something that could ruin his career and hence his whole life. Not after what had happened to Lisa. Juliet felt so completely at fault for Lisa's death and Lassiter's rage-blinded mission, and all she wanted to do was fix it all, make it all right again, somehow. She knew that could never happen, though. Her chest felt like it was being crushed under an immovable weight.

"Jules," said Shawn as he sat forward again in his seat. He put a tentative hand on her shoulder. "We'll find him. He's going to be okay."

She took another unsteady breath and shook her head. Then she put the car in gear again and started to drive. "Not if we don't keep looking," she said grimly.

Shawn grimaced and sat back, flashing Gus a look of despair before turning to gaze out his window.

oOoOoOoO

Lassiter watched the two men approaching him in the alley and felt a surge of adrenaline. He was pretty sure they weren't just passing through. He cursed fate and looked around for places to hide or things he could use in a fight, if it came to that. He'd been so close to getting Braden to cooperate and turn in Riley. Hopefully, he'd get out of this mess and be able to find the kid again, soon. He noted possible escape routes as the men got closer, but he was hoping that he could just talk his way past the thugs and find someplace to wait until Braden's call.

"Hey, what do you think you're doing back here?" asked the bald thug as they stopped a few feet away.

Lassiter shrugged. "Nothing. What are you doing here?"

"Look, friend," said the guy with both arms fully tattooed. "We're from here. You're not. So what are you doing?"

"Actually, I was just leaving," said Lassiter as he started to walk towards them, hoping to just go past and out of the alley.

"I don't think so," said Baldy as he held out a hand to block Lassiter's path. "Who was that you were talking to?"

Lassiter narrowed his eyes at the men as his heart started to race. He was getting the feeling that they weren't in the mood for him to talk his way past. "It was just some guy I met in a bar. He said he could get me some stuff."

"What kind of stuff?" asked Tattoo.

"None of your business," snapped Lassiter.

"Oh, it's our business all right," said Tattoo, taking a step forward.

Baldy held up a hand to stop his friend. "Hold on, hold on. What was the guy's name? We just like to keep track of who's doing what around here. That's all."

Lassiter shrugged. "I don't know. Frankie or something like that."

"We don't know any Frankie," said Tattoo menacingly.

"Maybe he's just visiting too, then," said Lassiter.

"It looked kinda like Brady to me," said Tattoo. The bald thug nodded.

Lassiter's heart skipped a beat, but he just said with a bored tone, "I thought it was Frank something. Pock marked face and a big scar on his nose?"

Baldy's gaze sharpened on Lassiter for a moment. "That doesn't sound like Brady."

"Fine. Look, friend," he said, echoing Tattoo. "I'm not looking for trouble. I was just talking to that guy, now I'm ready to leave. You won't see me again, okay?"

Baldy and Tattoo exchanged a look, and then Baldy said, "Sure, okay man." The two men stepped apart, opening a lane for Lassiter to walk through. "Have a nice night."

Lassiter felt his stomach do a flip. "Yeah, sure, you too," he said as he started to walk between them. He was hoping against hope that they were really going to let him go.

He took three steps. There was a slight scuffing noise, then hands gripped his shoulders and started to push him roughly to the side, towards the brick wall of the building. He tried to plant his feet and push back, but both men had a hold of him.

"Hey!" he managed to yell, but then he was shoved face-first into the wall, the rough brick scraping his left cheek painfully. He tried to push away with his hands, but each of the thugs had a grip on one of his upper arms while using their other hands to keep his shoulders pinned tightly to the wall.

"He smells like a cop to me," said Tattoo.

Lassiter wriggled, trying to get free of their grasp. "Then there's something wrong with your nose," he said with some difficulty as his face was still smashed up against the bricks.

"Check him," said Baldy.

He felt the pressure on his shoulders release as they started to pat down his coat pockets. He braced his hands on the wall and looked down, locating one of the thug's feet, then he raised his right leg and stomped his heel down on the inside of Tattoo's booted foot as hard as he could. The man screamed and released his arm as he bent over in pain. Lassiter shoved himself towards Baldy, pushing with all of his force against the wall to propel himself into the man. Then he wrenched his left arm, which was still in the thug's grasp, up and away, breaking the hold at the weakest part of the man's grip. He continued his spin around and swung his right fist into Baldy's gut. The man doubled over, breath escaping in a whoosh. Lassiter pushed the unbalanced man to the ground as he tried to move past him towards the street, but Tattoo's fist blurred into his vision. He pulled up and ducked but only avoided part of the blow as knuckles smashed across his right cheek, making his teeth and skull ring with pain for a few aching moments. He kept spinning in the direction of the punch, which was back into the depths of the alley, unfortunately, but he had to put distance between himself and Tattoo. He tried to regain his balance after the blow as he stumbled for several steps. When he was steady again he whipped around to find Tattoo stalking him and wielding a knife. _Fuck_.

He kept walking backwards, glancing quickly around for an escape route. Baldy was up now and approaching as well. The thug leaned over as he walked and snatched up a two foot section of rebar that had been on the ground. _Fuuuuck_. He narrowed his eyes and made the decision, reaching around to his back. He stopped walking and pulled out his two guns, aiming them at the thugs.

"Whoa!" said Baldy, stopping in his tracks.

"Sonofabitch," growled Tattoo.

"Drop those!" ordered Lassiter, aiming a gun at each man and feeling his face settle into a snarl. The men dropped their weapons.

"Now back up," gritted Lassiter as he took a step forward. "Back the fuck off!"

"What are you, Clint fucking Eastwood?" asked Tattoo with a sneer, but his eyes flashed with fear as he retreated a step.

Lassiter walked forward, glaring hotly as the adrenaline coursed through him. "Get up against that wall!" he ordered. The two thugs backed up until they were against the brick wall as Lassiter kept moving towards the street. He turned to face them once he'd drawn even, then he continued the rest of the way backwards so he could keep them in his sights. When he reached the end of the alley he paused and looked both directions, but there was no one else on the street. He aimed his glare back at the men for a moment, and then he turned and ran out of the alley and up the street, stashing the guns in his waistband again as he went.

He ran for two blocks in the general direction of Jo-Jo's, though he wasn't sure why. He figured that it was just a known location his adrenaline-fueled brain had latched onto during the "flight" response. He cut down alleys and onto adjoining streets in an effort to cover his tracks in case the two thugs tried to follow him. After he finally slowed to a walk, he tried to think about what the hell he was doing. He walked with his hands on his hips, breathing heavily, and for some reason the only thing could think clearly about for several minutes was how he needed to get back to a regular exercise routine because the whole wheezing-after-long-runs thing was getting old. He turned a corner onto a street that seemed somewhat busy and well-populated for the time of night, noticing that it was lined with several bars. He paused outside one bar with big windows. Glancing inside, he saw that it had about a dozen people mingling inside. Big TV screens showed news and sports channels. He leaned back against the wall of the building and watched the occasional car drive past on the street as his mind finally settled into normal patterns. He knew what he had to do.

He pulled out his cell phone, punching in Juliet's number, then he slid down the wall to sit on the sidewalk. His heart started racing again and he realized with some surprise that he was nervous. He'd gone off the deep end after seeing Lisa's body in her car, and he'd been absolutely ready to commit murder. _If I'd found Riley first, instead of Braden...Jesus I almost became what I hate. I think that kid saved my life_. He took a shaky breath as the phone was answered.

"Carlton! Is that you? Where are you?" yelled Juliet so that he had to pull the phone away from his ear.

"It's me, O'Hara. I'm fine," he said. He looked up at the nearest street sign and then twisted to look at the bar's name. "I'm on Carson Street, at a bar called Skipper's."

"Stay there, dammit!" she yelled again, making him wince. "We'll be there in a few minutes. We're not far."

He realized with an aching twist in his gut that they'd been searching for him. Juliet had to be a wreck, after Lisa's murder and then with him just running off with no word. "I'll be right here, in the bar," he said, trying to sound reassuring. He was going to get reamed when they arrived, he was certain of that. And he deserved it, too, for running off like an idiot vigilante and causing his partner so much added grief. "I'm sorry." He added the last with a hopeless tone.

"Jesus, Carlton," said Juliet, voice calmer finally. "Just stay put." Then she hung up.

Lassiter lowered his head and suddenly felt every ache and injury on his body. Sore, scraped cheeks, headache, stinging knees and an aching hand from punching the guy's gut, not to mention sore legs and blistered feet from running so damned much.

"Hey, move along there. No bums," said a voice above him.

He looked up to see the bouncer from the bar leaning out the door and waving at him with a dismissive hand.

Lassiter straightened up. "I'm not a bum," he said tiredly.

"You look like a bum. Move on."

Lassiter stood up and glanced down at himself, realizing that he did look like a bum. "I've, uh, had a rough night."

"No shit."

"Some friends are coming to pick me up. I need to go inside," he said, taking a step towards the door.

"This isn't a bus stop, dude. Meet them somewhere else."

Lassiter pulled out his wallet and snagged a bill out of it, waving it in the air. "I'll be drinking."

The bouncer grimaced and sighed. "Okay, but I'm gonna have my eye on you."

"I'm sure you will. Don't worry. I won't be any trouble."

The bouncer just rolled his eyes as Lassiter entered and made his way to the bar. He tossed the bill on the bar and ordered a shot of whiskey. He downed it and then ordered another. He hadn't meant to actually drink, but now that he'd been somewhat forced to do so, he found that it was easing some of his tension. Still, he couldn't wait for his partner to arrive. He needed to get grounded again, get his head straight, and Juliet was the person who could always help him do that. He was tired, and his foray into the dark side of his own nature had been more than a little disturbing. He fiddled with his second drink, just taking sips to pass the time while keeping an eye on the street outside the front window. Thoughts of Lisa, the date and her death, were hovering at the edges of his mind like a dark swarm, but he kept them at bay. For now. He couldn't deal with that yet, the rawness of it. His crazed focus on killing Riley had shifted to apprehending him, and hence helping Braden, but it was still the focus he was fervently maintaining in order to avoid the dark, painful reality of Lisa's murder.

After only five minutes, he saw a gray Crown Vic screech to a halt in a parking space across the street. Juliet jumped out and ran towards the bar, her face tight with concern or anger or, he suspected, both. He stood up and faced the door, bracing himself as she entered. He could see Shawn and Gus getting out of the car behind her. When she got through the door she scanned the bar quickly until her eyes fell on him. Her face seemed to twist in pain, which wasn't what he was expecting. She strode towards him. He opened his mouth to ask if she was okay, but when she was within a couple of feet she suddenly lunged into him and wrapped him in a tight hug, briefly taking his breath away. He returned the hug, less tightly, and watched over her shoulder as Shawn and Gus entered. They both smiled at him, actually looking happy, or at least relieved, to see him. He just nodded. Juliet finally pulled out of the hug, and as she started to take a step back she gave him a swift punch to the gut.

His breath whooshed out. "Jeez, O'Hara," he gasped.

"That was a stupid thing to do, Carlton," she said through clenched teeth.

He grimaced. "I know."

"What were you thinking?"

"I'm not sure I really was," he said dryly.

She nodded. "Uh huh," she said indignantly, then she looked around. "Let's go over here."

She grabbed his arm and pulled him towards a booth, waving Shawn and Gus to it as she went. She pushed Lassiter to one side of the table and scooted in on the other side. Gus slid in next to Lassiter while Shawn took the spot next to Juliet.

"Hey, Lassie," said Gus.

"Lassoudini!" said Shawn. "Or should I say Lassinocchio?"

"Shawn," said Juliet warningly.

"What the hell are you talking about Spencer?" asked Lassiter as he massaged his forehead. Spencer's rambling was just about the last thing he needed.

"You totally lied to me, man," said Shawn. "You used me!"

"Oh," said Lassiter. "Yeah, but I didn't really lie to you, I let you make an assumption...and then I used you." He gave Shawn a half-apologetic look and a not-very-apologetic shrug.

Gus kicked Shawn under the table, looking smug. Shawn kicked back. Juliet slammed a fist down hard, making all three men jump. She just glared at each of them in turn for a few moments, starting with Shawn and Gus and ending on Lassiter.

"What happened? Where did you go? It looks like you got in a fight, Carlton. Are you okay? And, finally, for god's sake, tell me what the hell is going on with you," said Juliet, her voice growing more strained with each sentence.

Lassiter had his hands on the table, fidgeting with his fingers and picking at the scratched up skin of his palms. He took a deep breath. "I should start at the beginning," he said.

"Can you start on page 42 instead?" quipped Shawn, still seemingly indignant. He clammed up quickly though when he received a death-glare from Juliet.

"After the shooting, when I was trying to sleep at home, I got a phone call," he began. "Anonymous. A man asking if I was the one who had killed...'him.'"

Juliet was flabbergasted. "Last night? Why didn't you report it this morning at your IA interview?"

Lassiter blinked with surprise. "Was that just last night?" Then he blushed. "I don't know why I didn't say anything. I guess I thought that maybe it was just a prank call, that it might not have anything to do with the case," he said dejectedly. "Stupid, I know."

Shawn's brow was furrowed. He put his elbows on the table and clasped his hands in front of him, suddenly deep in thought.

"After I went back home, this morning, I was trying to sleep again, because I haven't really been sleeping well," he paused and cleared his throat. "Anyway. I got another call. He asked me why I'd done it."

Juliet groaned and rubbed the bridge of her nose. Gus got up and went to the bar.

"Carlton," said Juliet.

"I was going to tell you," he interjected. "Tonight, at..." He stopped and stared at his hands as the dark swarm engulfed him for a few moments. His eyes started to burn.

Juliet drew in a breath. "Oh, god," she said with such abject despair that Lassiter was shaken from his own thoughts and he glanced up at her. "At dinner." Juliet's eyes were brimming too. Lassiter felt his broken heart crack a little more because of his partner's suffering.

"I should've told you, when you called," said Lassiter in a gruff near-whisper, finding it harder to speak the closer they got to the raw gaping wound of the night.

They fell silent for a few moments as Gus brought four glasses of water over to the table. Lassiter was the only one to take a drink. He was disturbed to see his hand shake when he picked up the glass, so he just kept it on the table and sipped from the straw.

"Is that all?" asked Juliet with a hollow tone.

Lassiter grimaced. "No."

They all looked at him, Gus expectantly, Shawn with a thoughtful curiosity and Juliet with desolation.

"I saw a car, parked across the street, when Lisa arrived," said Lassiter. He was silent for a few moments, feeling as if the admission was going to bring down a rain of fire or at least a reprimand from Juliet. No one spoke. "I didn't really think about it, because, well...I was letting her in, and I saw it, but she was there, and..." He trailed off, closing his eyes against a wave of guilt.

"You couldn't have known," said Gus sympathetically.

Lassiter worked his jaw and felt the look of self-disgust twisting his face, felt it throughout his whole being. "I should've known."

"What did the car look like?" asked Shawn, trying to focus the recounting on a solid detail and pull it out of the black forest of emotions a little bit.

"Gray Buick, rust spots, dents on the left rear panel," said Lassiter with practiced precision. "I didn't get the plates, though."

"Is that why you ran back?" asked Juliet.

Lassiter nodded. He squeezed his eyes shut and leaned forward so his forehead was resting on the palms of his hands. "After she left. Right after. I got another call."

Gus made a small noise of despair as the shock of his statement ran tangibly through the three of them.

"He was panicked and said he didn't know what he'd been planning and that he'd taken her. I ran outside. The Buick was still there, but Lisa's car was at the end of the street already. I ran after it," he recited the events and gazed into the blackness of his closed eyes, feeling like he was walking down a dark tunnel in his mind. "I heard the shot." He stopped at the end of the tunnel and stared at the image of Lisa again, as frozen as he had been when he'd been standing next to her car.

"I don't understand," said Juliet. "Who was calling you?" 

It was Shawn who spoke. "Braden," he said sadly.

"The other son? Why?" asked Gus.

"He wanted help," said Lassiter numbly, still transfixed by his memory. "He wants my help."

"He's the one who called Gina about her sons being here, and he called in the tip on the robbery," said Shawn, putting together the clues that had solidified in his mind. "He was trying to get his dad caught, right?"

Lassiter nodded, staring at Lisa, the curve of her neck and her limp hands and the blood soaking her shirt. "He wanted to help his brother," he said, finally opening his eyes and sitting back in his seat. He felt the tears form and fall and didn't try to wipe them away. "He called the police so we would save his little brother's life."

oOoOoOoO

Shawn leaned on his elbows, hands together in a prayer-like pose, lips resting against his fingertips. He felt his eyes burning and studiously avoided looking at Lassiter. He looked at Gus instead and saw that his friend was so shocked at the story that his sympathy-tears were still just a sheen in his eyes. Shawn shook his head as if he could dislodge the sadness and tragedies of the past 48 hours from his mind. He tried to focus again on the various events, connecting the dots to make sense of it all. As if any of it could ever make sense. But he had to do it. It always made him feel better to know how everything fit.

"Where did you go tonight?" Juliet asked.

Lassiter was quiet for a few moments and Shawn risked a glance at him, wincing inside at the stark despair etched on his face. But then Lassie seemed to snap into focus again, wiping awkwardly at his eyes and clearing his throat.

"Um, I went to find Riley. I wanted to kill him," he said, voice rough. He paused for a few long, awkward moments as the rest of them remained silent. "I started at the pizza place and moved outwards."

Juliet had done the same thing. Shawn thought they really did make great partners.

"I was looking for the Buick. I found it on Olive street."

They all stared at him, yet again, in shock.

"Did you find Riley?" asked Juliet with apprehension, as if she wasn't sure she really wanted to know.

"I found Braden. I tried to get him to tell me where his father was, but he wouldn't," said Lassiter, sounding faintly ashamed. "Talking to him kind of...I don't know. I guess it snapped me out of it, made me realize what I was doing." He looked down at his hands again.

"Well, I'm glad for that," said Juliet softly, clearly relieved that he hadn't gotten hurt or done something drastic.

"So you didn't find out where Riley is?" asked Shawn, brow furrowed, realizing there had to be more to the story.

"No. We talked. I think I'd just convinced him that I'd changed my mind, that I wanted his father brought in, safely, and then a couple of thugs showed up. Braden ran off."

Shawn's eyebrows raised. "Oh! Is that why..." he trailed off and just waved at Lassie's face which had obviously suffered one or two blows in a fight.

Lassiter nodded, lips pursed.

Gus looked at the detective incredulously. "You fought off two guys?"

Lassiter shrugged slightly. "Having two Glocks helped."

Gus made an "Ah-hah!" face and traded a look of near-amusement with Shawn.

"Braden said he would call me," said Lassiter soberly. He looked up at Juliet as if to say the ball was in her court.

"Now is that all?" Juliet asked again, eyebrows raised.

"Yes," said Lassiter looking suddenly tired and deflated. "I'm sorry, Juliet."

"Carlton, don't worry about it. I'm just glad you're okay," she said, reaching out and putting her hands on his on the table for a few moments.

Shawn took a drink of his water as he considered the details of Lassie's story. So Riley, enraged by his son's death, had decided to go after the cops responsible. He'd figured out who the detectives were, easy enough with the media coverage, and had somehow figured out where Lassie lived, probably not hard for him since he had knowledge of and access to real estate information. He'd staked out Lassie's place and saw a woman go inside. Maybe he thought she was Juliet, or maybe he didn't care. Shawn's brow furrowed for a moment. Where did he get the Buick? He had a truck that was left at the scene of the shooting. How did he manage to get another car so soon? Maybe he just bought it, or stole it. He could've had two cars all along but Shawn doubted that. Maybe he borrowed it. Shawn got the familiar tingle of gut instinct at the thought.

"Lassie," he said. "You said you found the Buick. Is that where you saw Braden too?"

Lassiter was fishing an ice cube out of his water and wrapping it in a napkin to hold to his bruised right cheek. "Yeah, I saw the car parked in an alley. I started to stake it out when Braden walked up the street and headed down the alley. I cornered him there."

Shawn pursed his lips. "And then the two thugs came down the same alley?"

Lassiter nodded as he held the ice pack to his face.

"That's quite a coincidence, don't you think?"

"What do you mean?" asked Juliet.

"It just seems like a busy alley for being the middle of the night. I was just wondering where Riley got another car. His truck was impounded after the shooting, right?"

Juliet nodded. They all three looked at Shawn, waiting for him to continue.

"Well, where did he get the Buick? Maybe he borrowed it. Maybe those two thugs are friends of his, or accomplices?"

Lassiter nodded. "Braden said they were his dad's friends. That's why he ran. He was afraid they'd see him talking to me."

"We need their descriptions," said Juliet. "Or better yet, you should go to the station and look through some mug shots. If we can identify them, they might have an address."

"It wouldn't surprise me if they have records," said Lassiter. "They were big, one bald, the other with both arms tattooed. The inked-up guy had a knife. I think they pegged me as a cop." He grimaced.

"I hope they didn't see Braden then," said Gus.

They all nodded. "I just hope he calls back," said Lassiter with an expression of concern. "If we can get him to come in, I'm sure he can help us round them all up."

Lassiter's phone rang. They all looked at each other for a moment, wide-eyed, as Lassie pulled the phone out of his pocket. He looked apprehensive as he hit the key.

"Hello," he said. "Yeah. Look, Braden, I'm sitting here with my partner. We're ready to send people to get your dad. I need you to tell me where he is."

Shawn noticed how conciliatory Lassie sounded talking to the kid. He could tell he really cared about helping him. Shawn had figured out that Braden must've been the anonymous tipster after Gina's description of him at the hotel. The kid seemed to love his dad and his brother deeply, but he also seemed to have a strong sense of right and wrong. He'd been caught up in his dad's lifestyle unwillingly, going along with it to keep an eye on his brother. When it was getting more serious, he'd tried to find a way to get his brother and himself free of it. He'd almost done it, too, but bad luck had hit them all hard. Shawn watched as Lassie listened to the kid for a few moments, face etched with worry.

"Yes. I promise. Braden? Wait, don't hang up yet..." he said in a harsh whisper. Then he scowled and ended the call. "Dammit! He hung up. I think Riley walked in on him."

"Did he say where they were?" asked Gus.

"No, he was just asking me again if I was going to keep his dad safe," said Lassiter with a sour look.

Juliet sighed and rested her face in her hands for a moment. "Let's get you back to the station," she said as she sat up again, looking bone-tired. "We'll see if we can trace the calls."

Lassiter gave her a hopeless look. "His calls have never lasted more than a minute."

"We have to try," she said as she nudged Shawn to move. "You can look at the mug shots, too."

"And you can prepare yourself for when the chief comes in tomorrow," said Gus as he stood up to let Lassiter out. "You know, settle your affairs, take your measurements. Pine box and all."

Lassiter and Juliet both rolled their eyes and scowled as they scooted to the edge of the booth seats. Shawn grinned. "Dude, you just made an inappropriate joke in the midst of a totally serious and grim situation," he said, giving Gus a jovial slap on his shoulder. "I've taught you so well!"

Lassiter's phone rang. They all froze, again, Shawn and Gus standing, Juliet and Lassiter still sitting in the booth. Shawn was starting to feel like what those dogs in that experiment must've felt like...what was the scientist's name? Pavel Chekhov or something. He'd have to ask Gus about that one.

Lassiter answered, "Braden? Just tell me..." He paused, listening, brow furrowed. Then his eyebrows raised and an almost hopeful looked entered his eye. "Okay. Are you going?" He nodded, then he held his hand over the phone for a moment. "Riley is going to skip town. He's headed to the bus station, alone," he whispered. Then he took his hand away. "That's a big help Braden. My partner will be there. No, I'm not going, I can't. I have to go back in to the police station." Lassiter was looking at Juliet as he said the last part. She gave him a pained look but nodded. He gave her a resigned nod in return. "Got it," he said and hung up.

"Greyhound terminal then?" asked Juliet as she pulled out her own phone. Lassiter nodded. Juliet stood up and walked off to the side to make her call to the station.

"What's Braden going to do?" asked Shawn.

"He said he wasn't going with his dad," said Lassiter with a furrowed brow, as if something about the conversation bothered him.

Shawn grimaced. "But where is he going then? Is he going to turn himself in?"

"I think so," said Lassiter uncertainly. "He didn't really say. He was acting..."

"What?" asked Shawn when Lassiter didn't continue.

Lassiter shrugged. "I don't know. Something seemed off. This whole damned mess is 'off' though." He leaned forward on his elbows again and put his face in his hands, heaving a tired sigh. "Hopefully he'll turn himself in, maybe after his dad is caught and he sees that I've kept my promise."

Shawn thought that seemed awfully vague, but catching Riley was definitely the priority. Juliet came back to join them.

"Okay we're going to head over to the terminal now. I told Buzz to come and pick you up," she said to Lassiter. "So stay here, dammit."

Lassiter grimaced and nodded. "I'm sorry I can't go," he said glumly. Shawn saw the same look of defeat on his face that he'd seen during the Chavez case, when he'd been sure he was going to be charged with the guy's murder.

"Hey, Lassie, we're going to get Riley now, because of you, man," said Shawn, indulging in a pep talk for the dejected detective. "You made that connection with Braden so he'd give us this tip. You're going to help him get his life straight again by doing this."

Lassiter just shrugged and nodded. "You guys be careful," he said looking up at them with a mixture of longing and anxious concern. "Please. And if you can, O'Hara, take him alive. I promised the kid."

"We'll be careful, partner. And I'll get him. He deserves a life behind bars," said Juliet. She waved at Shawn and Gus to head out the door, then she put a hand on Lassiter's shoulder for a moment as they all walked past. "Buzz will be here soon. See you at the station."


	7. Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

Lassiter returned from the men's room where he had tried in vain to clean away some of the night. He'd splashed water on his face and had combed through his hair with his fingers, but he had to admit that he looked like roadkill. He definitely felt like he'd been flattened and ground into the dirt. He was grimy, and his clothes were stiff and sticking in places from where he'd been sweating. He had an overwhelming desire for a shower and sleep. There was also an ache in his chest which had spiked when Juliet and the two goofballs had gone off to do the job he should be doing, and the squeezed feeling wasn't letting up as he waited. It was getting worse. He heard the bartender yell last call and remembered that Buzz would be driving. He found enough money remaining in his wallet, so he ordered a beer. He'd almost ordered more whiskey, but he wanted to be able to see the mug shots when he got to the station.

He stood at the bar, taking a couple slugs of beer, and tried to occupy his mind with what Juliet would be doing now. He envisioned the plan of action at the bus terminal, where to position backup units and how to search inside for Riley. She would probably send Shawn and Gus into the station to scout out its occupancy, since they were the last people who would ever look like cops, and since Spencer had his "talents." He was pretty sure her photo had been in at least one of the papers that day, file photos of the detectives involved in the shooting, so she would stay in her car staked out near the entrance.

Tired and discouraged, he shuffled back to his booth, taking another long swig from the bottle, but just as he was lowering himself into the seat, his phone rang. He almost dropped the bottle as it slipped through his fingers and bounced on the table before he could grab it. He fumbled for the phone, pulled it out of his pocket and answered, forgetting to look at who was calling. Somehow, he knew.

"Hello," he said, feeling his heart speeding up again in the tight confines of his chest.

"Hey, um, detective," said Braden, voice full of uncertainty.

"Braden, where are you?"

"I'm just, at this place," he said, fumbling for words. "It's, uh, like a pool hall. And I'm here, y'know, alone now."

"Look," said Lassiter, trying to organize his thoughts. He was suddenly aware of how muzzy his brain had gotten, from the drinks or the recent ordeals or both, and he wanted to be careful with his words. "You did the right thing, tonight, Braden. I really think things are going to get better, now."

Braden made a sound like a scoff or a sob. "Nothing will ever be better."

"No, kid, it will. Believe me. It can't get any worse," he said, stopping himself before he devolved into a rant. He took a deep breath. "But there's one more thing you should do. You need to turn yourself in, too."

There was silence on the other end, and Lassiter's heart skipped a beat as he braced for the phone to go dead. He scolded himself for pushing too hard and rubbed at his forehead with his free hand.

"I just want my mom," said Braden quietly, and something about his voice made Lassiter think he was crying. "My mom's..." His voice trailed away but the sound of rough breaths came through the line.

"Hey, absolutely. She's in town. Just come in and we'll let you see her as soon as we can," said Lassiter.

There was another pause and a strange muffling noise on the line, as if Braden was holding his hand over the phone. Then he spoke again, voice only slightly more steady, "Will you come and get me?"

Lassiter blinked and watched as a drop of condensation slid down the side of the beer bottle in front of him. "Of course," he said, feeling an odd sense of floating. Then he shook his head and tried to clear the muzziness. "Someone is coming to pick me up, a uniformed officer. We'll come and get you."

"No!" gasped Braden, suddenly on the verge of panic. "Please, just you?"

"Braden..."

"Look, man, I'm going crazy right now. I don't want...it's too much...I can't handle this..."

"Braden, calm down. It's okay."

"No. No cop cars. Just, like, call a cab or something? Please? Jesus, just help me," he said with another sobbing sound.

Lassiter's heart skipped again as he felt the shock of Braden's panic. It seemed extreme, but how could he judge after everything the kid had gone through over the past couple of days? "Okay, okay, relax! I'll come alone and we can call a cab. That's fine," said Lassiter, realizing almost after the fact what he'd just committed himself to. Juliet was going to kill him. "Where are you?"

"Olive Street," said Braden, sniffing and drawing in ragged breaths. "Up the block from that alley."

Lassiter stood up and headed for the door of the bar with the phone still to his ear. As he exited he looked up and down the street, half-expecting Buzz's squad car to be approaching, but it wasn't there, and he felt a strange pang of regret as if Buzz's arrival could've gotten him out of the deal he'd made with the kid. He berated himself then. _You want to do something tonight other than wallow in your self-pity, then here's what you can do. Bring the kid in, help your partner identify the thugs. Do your job._ He knew going off to pick up the kid alone wasn't the smartest idea, and he figured his decisions were being impaired by drink and stress, but he just couldn't bring himself to worry about it too much. He felt in his core that he could trust the kid, and he felt like bringing him in would somehow put one of the tumbled bricks of his life back in its proper place.

"Same side of the street?" he asked Braden as he started to walk briskly in the direction of Olive Street.

"Yeah," said Braden somberly. "It's just a little pool hall. There's, um..." He cleared his throat. "There's a guy here keeping it open for me, until you get here." His voice was trembling.

"I'll be there in a few minutes," said Lassiter.

"Okay," said Braden, voice desolate. "Bye." The line went dead.

Lassiter took a deep breath as he walked, feeling the crisp night air clearing some of the cobwebs in his brain. This was a bad idea, he thought. He held the hand holding his phone against his belly where Juliet had punched him. _It'll be okay. I'll get the kid and we'll go in. Juliet will get Riley, and it'll all be over._ He grimaced at the thoughts, unable to totally convince himself. Optimism wasn't his best skill. But he kept walking, driven to do something, pushing away the doubts. One thing he knew for certain, though, he had to call Juliet. He couldn't go off alone, again, without at least filling her in this time. He took another deep breath and punched in her number. The phone rang several times and he wondered with a surge of hope if she was already apprehending Riley.

"Carlton?" she answered.

"O'Hara, how's it going?" he asked hopefully.

"We're still getting backup units in position," she said. "Shawn and Gus have gone inside to scout the place out. What are you doing? Did Buzz pick you up?"

"Not yet," he said.

His voice must've held something. "Carlton? What's going on?" she asked with apprehension, a promise of anger in her tone.

"Braden called again. He wants me to go with him, to turn himself in."

"And you're going to let Buzz pick you up before you go get him, right?"

He paused.

"Carlton! What is wrong with you? Do not go alone!"

"Juliet, please," he said, wincing. "He's just a scared kid. He wants this to be over. It'll be fine."

"NO! Dammit, listen to me! Do. Not. Go. Alone."

Lassiter felt a spark of anger flare up unexpectedly. His own doubts and anxieties had been whispering the same thing at him, but his stubborn streak kicked in with a vengeance. "O'Hara!" he barked.

He heard a growl of frustration. "What would you say if our positions were reversed?" she asked with exasperation.

He sighed. "I'd say the same things you are," he admitted. "But I don't want this kid to slip through the cracks. He begged me to come without a uniform. Look, I'll call Buzz and tell him where I'm going, okay? He can hang back and keep an eye on me."

"Oh, for god's sake," she hissed. "There's something happening here. I have to go. Dammit, Carlton, I am not going to stick up for you with the chief on this one. This is a boneheaded move. I am not happy about this at all."

He winced at her admonishment, feeling a stab of guilt and shame at the harsh reprimand from his partner. At the same time, his stubborn defensiveness ratcheted up a notch and made his anger flare again. He bit back a sharp retort, though, guilt winning out over his sense of being offended. "I understand, O'Hara. I'm sorry. Trust me, though. I'm right about this kid."

"Call Buzz, right now. I have to go. I'm going to call him after I take care of this, though, to make sure."

Lassiter rolled his eyes, feeling suddenly like a little kid being sent to time-out. "I got it," he said sharply.

He heard her release another growl of frustration before she ended the call. He gripped the phone in a tight fist, wondering for a moment if he could crush it with his hand. At that moment, he felt like he could. He walked for another half block as he waited for his anger to subside. After a few more minutes, his emotions settled down and he realized the call had gone about as well as he should've expected. He shook his head and called McNab's number. As it rang, he saw that he was only a couple of streets away from Olive.

"Hello, Detective Lassiter? Where are you? I'm at the bar on Carson Street."

"McNab, there's been a change of plans," said Lassiter, trying to iron out the irritation from his voice. "I'm heading to Olive Street. I'm going to escort Braden North back to the station. He doesn't want to travel in a squad car, so we're going to call a cab. Just come over to the area and hang back. Got that?"

"Um, does Detective O'Hara know about this?" asked Buzz apprehensively.

"Yes, I just spoke with her," clipped Lassiter. "Olive Street. Hang back. Follow our cab to the station."

"Sir, where are you meeting him on Olive Street?"

"A pool hall. I don't have a name. I'm almost there now, so just watch for the cab," he said, then he hung up.

The irritation he felt at his conversation with Juliet was persisting. He knew she was right, and the voice of reason in his head was making the same arguments, but he felt trapped by the situation. He couldn't let the kid slip away. He'd promised to help him. So he continued on. Juliet had been really angry though, and worse, disappointed. He was ashamed and berated himself for adding even more grief to her night. He felt lower than low. If he could just get the kid and get back to the station, things would get better. He'd endure the chief's reprimands, but he could take it if he'd set things right. He had felt in his core earlier that he had hit rock bottom, and he'd been almost relieved by that, thinking that meant things were going to improve. But so far, he felt like he was just scraping along on the bottom instead of moving up. A dark scowl twisted his face as he approached Olive Street. Things would get better, he told himself unconvincingly.

When he reached the street he looked up and down for any activity, but it was even more deserted now. No cars and not even the homeless guy were around. He was on the other side of the street again and gazed at the store fronts. He didn't see anything that looked like a pool hall. His heart started to beat faster, and he sighed, putting his hands on his hips. As his eyes swept across the store fronts again he noticed something. There was a door standing open at the edge of one building. He crossed the road and started to walk towards the building with the open door. It was about half a block from the alley mouth. The building had frosted front windows that only showed a faint glow from the other side, but he could see light streaming out of the doorway onto the sidewalk. He felt a shiver of anticipation run down his spine as he approached. A fleeting thought urged him to wait for Buzz. He didn't have to coddle the kid like this. He could just say to hell with the kid's panic and go in with Buzz. He didn't have to keep his word. He paused a few feet from the door and swallowed thickly. He didn't want to force the kid. And in any case, he still had his guns. If something did go sour, he could take care of himself. He took a deep breath and walked to the open door.

oOoOoOoO

Juliet couldn't remember feeling more angry in her life. And her anger had the added fuel of fear and grief to stoke it to a white-hot fury. She would've continued cursing out loud after she had hung up on Lassiter except that the backup officers were trying to get direction from her on the radio and she had to deal with them. She spent several minutes getting the other units in position. Then she saw Shawn and Gus coming back out of the terminal with disappointed expressions. So Riley wasn't in there, yet. She sighed and shook her head while she punched in Buzz's number on her phone.

"Hi, Detective O'Hara," he said with a note of apprehension.

"Buzz, did Lassiter call you?"

"Yes, he did. I'm driving to Olive Street now to monitor his movements."

She remembered the name of the street as the one where he'd found Braden. "So you still haven't seen him yourself yet?"

"Well, um, no, detective. I came to the bar, and then he called to say he was going to Olive Street. He said to hang back and follow the cab he's going to take with Braden North."

Juliet sighed and rubbed her forehead. "Tell me everything he said."

"He said he's meeting the kid at a pool hall on Olive Street."

"Buzz, if you don't see him there, or if you don't see a cab show up within fifteen minutes, you call me. Got that?"

"Yes sir! I mean, yes detective."

Juliet hung up and sighed. She pursed her lips and wondered at her partner. He'd been acting so unlike himself over the past two days, but this stunt took the cake. She wanted to trust his instincts, was used to doing so, but her own were screaming the opposite messages as his. They didn't usually clash this badly, and it disturbed her. She just hoped after everything was finally settled with this nightmare of a case, things would get back to normal again.

Shawn and Gus were almost to the car. She saw headlights in the rear view as they jogged across the road. She was parked on the opposite side and down a half block from the bus terminal building where she could keep her eye on the entrance. When the two friends got out of the approaching car's way, they suddenly engaged in some kind of shoving match as they tried to make their way to the passenger-side doors. She watched them with a grimace, no tolerance at all left for their antics. The approaching car passed by and she only peripherally noted that it was some kind of older, junky looking vehicle. Gus apparently won whatever odd battle they'd been having and jumped into the front passenger seat while Shawn climbed into the back.

"Dude, just because your Pumas are faster than my Roos doesn't make them cooler," said Shawn as he shut his door.

"I beg to differ," said Gus. "I am in the shotgun seat, hence I am cooler, hence my Pumas, which got me here, are cooler. It's basic logic, Shawn. If A equals B and B equals C, then A equals C."

Shawn was about to continue the banter when he and Gus seemed to realize at the same time that Juliet's face was flushed with fury as she glared at them.

"Hey, Jules," said Shawn, abashed. "Riley's not in there yet. Gus even checked the Ladie's room."

"Shawn!"

Juliet turned her glare out the windshield and gripped the steering wheel tightly.

"Jules?" said Shawn.

"Are you okay, Juliet?" asked Gus simultaneously.

"No," she said.

Gus turned to exchange a look with Shawn. "Okaaaay," said Shawn.

"If Riley doesn't show up in fifteen minutes," she said. "We are going to get Lassiter and take him to the station ourselves."

"What? Why?" asked Shawn.

"Because he's done it again. And I'm seriously considering arresting him this time," she growled.

"He did what again?" asked Gus, then his eyebrows raised. "Did he run off again?"

"No way!" exclaimed Shawn with a hint of admiration in his tone. "That's so awesomely wrong."

"Guys, I'm going to ask you to shut up now," said Juliet through gritted teeth.

Shawn and Gus traded another look and nodded, silently agreeing to do so, both of them sensing that Juliet was in a mood to pull her weapon on them. They all stared out the windshield, willing Riley North to show up and walk into the bus terminal so the nightmare would end.

oOoOoOoO

Lassiter stepped up to the open door of the building and looked inside. He saw pool tables and felt a small flash of relief. This had to be the pool hall Braden was talking about, though it looked more like some kind of small club house instead of a public pool parlor. The impression was supported by the solid metal door that held no name or other markings. He looked into the room and saw two pool tables on the right side and a small, very small, bar on the left side with a man standing behind it. The man was leaning on the bar and writing something in a book or ledger. Braden had mentioned that a guy was letting him wait there. He looked further and saw that beyond the pool tables were a few smaller tables. A figure was sitting at one of them, head bowed. It looked like Braden, but his hood was up again and he couldn't see his face. He glanced around the room one more time from the outside. Beyond the smaller tables where Braden was sitting he saw a door that was mostly reflective glass inside a wooden frame. It reminded him of a one-way mirror for some reason. Apparently there was a back room to the place.

He cleared his throat and saw Braden jerk in surprise, whipping his head up. Lassiter could see that his face look anxious in the shadows of his hood. The guy behind the bar glanced up at him and nodded, then looked back at whatever he was working on. Lassiter's brow furrowed as the hairs on the back of his neck started to stand up. He took a step into the room.

"Are you closing for the night?" he asked the guy, not caring about the answer but wanting to engage the stranger in conversation, try to take his measure. Something about the man seemed familiar, but the feeling was extremely vague.

"Oh, yeah, been closed, but the kid there needed help so I said sure," said the guy amiably enough.

Lassiter nodded and looked over at Braden again. "Are you ready to go?"

Braden was leaned over in his chair, arms on his knees and legs bouncing with anxiety. His hands were clasped and he was staring down at them, not looking at Lassiter.

"Did you call a cab yet?" asked Lassiter as he took a few steps into the room, feeling reluctant to move too far from the door.

Braden just shook his head. Lassiter's eyes narrowed and he looked at the other guy again as he took a few more steps towards Braden. The guy yawned and scribbled something in the book. Lassiter turned back to Braden, but he started to move into the room in a way that was allowing him to view Braden and the guy at the bar at the same time, walking backwards towards the back wall of the room.

"Braden, look at me," ordered Lassiter.

Braden stiffened and stopped bouncing his legs. He glanced up from under his hood in the direction of the other guy, first. Lassiter looked over again, but the guy was just leaning against the bar now, one elbow on it with his head resting on his hand. His other hand was still scribbling. Lassiter was about to say something else when Braden looked up at him finally. His face was a mess. He had a fresh bruise on his jaw and a split lip.

"What the hell happened to you?" asked Lassiter aghast.

"Nothing," said Braden softly as he ducked his head again. He was trembling.

Lassiter looked at the other guy once more and saw that he was reaching under the bar for something. He resisted a sudden urge to draw his weapons, but he kept his eye on the guy for another moment to see what he was doing. He heard Braden move and could see peripherally that he was standing up. The other guy pulled something up into view and Lassiter realized it was a baseball hat. He felt a spring-tight knot of tension release between his shoulder blades and blinked with relief, turning his gaze to Braden only to feel his breath freeze in his chest like he'd swallowed dry ice. Braden was holding a gun on him.

He gaped, mouth open in search of words to articulate his shock, or at the very least in search of air to force into his suddenly paralyzed lungs. _I did it again. I got it all wrong. How did I get it so wrong?_ He moved his uncomprehending stare from the hard reality of the gun up to Braden. The kid's face was twisted in anguish, tears streaming as he shook almost uncontrollably.

"What the hell are you doing?" Lassiter heard himself say.

"I'm sorry," hissed Braden through clenched teeth as he continued to tremble, gun wavering in his grip.

Lassiter shook his head and suddenly remembered the other guy. He turned and saw the man closing the metal door, pushing home a heavy bolt lock. The guy turned to face them, and Lassiter saw the baseball hat he'd put on. It had a snake logo. The world seemed to shift under his feet as he remembered the hat from the night of the shooting.

"Riley North," said Lassiter, hearing his own voice as if it was detached from his body.

"Detective Lassiter," said Riley with a smug grin. He looked very much like Braden, Lassiter realized now, too late, except that he was a couple of inches shorter, and his face had a sharper, more feral edge to it. "Thanks for coming. I thought it'd be harder to get you here, but my kid's sappy tears were enough, I guess. You must be a real softie at heart."

Lassiter tried to think of something to say to that, but the only thought in his head, strangely, was that at least things were finally going to be settled. He swallowed and looked at Braden. The kid was obviously struggling. His dad was forcing him, somehow, to do this. His eyes narrowed. A white-hot fire ignited in his chest, burning off the ice and making his heart race.

"Put that gun down," said Lassiter softly, flashing disconcertingly back to the shooting.

"I can't," hissed Braden.

"Yes, you can. Put it down. Now." He glanced at Riley again, noting that he was slowly walking towards them with the ghost of a sneer on his face. Lassiter wanted to smash his fist into that face to erase the expression.

"You don't understand," said Braden.

Lassiter didn't like how Riley was approaching, and he didn't think Braden was going to be talked down very easily, so he decided to try a different tack. He reached around and pulled the guns out from under the back of his coat. He aimed one at Braden and one at Riley who pulled up with a faint look of shock.

"Put the gun down, now," he repeated. Then he looked at Riley. "And you stay right there."

Riley grinned. "They said you were fast on the draw, but it's hard to believe until you see it. Very impressive, detective," he said. "But you're missing a big part of the scene here."

"What the hell does that mean?" gritted Lassiter, keeping his focus on Riley. Braden was much less of a threat, he was sure, even though he was holding a gun. Lassiter could tell that Riley was the real danger.

Riley looked at Lassiter with a hungry glint in his eyes. He kept the grin, but Lassiter could tell that he was full of a seething black hatred that was directed solely at him. It was unnerving, and even though he had two guns and was confident of being able to take out both men if he had to, he felt suddenly like a mouse caught by a cat. He decided to try and take the offensive and swiveled around to aim both of his guns at Riley, leaving the trembling Braden in his peripheral view. Riley's smile faded away. Lassiter felt a flash of triumph and determined to follow-up by simply walking out of the situation, like he had with the thugs earlier.

"Back off," he said to Riley, who was now standing between him and the door.

Riley just tilted his head at him, then he looked at Braden expectantly.

"Stop, detective," pleaded Braden.

Lassiter shifted slightly so he could see Braden a little better. "Braden if you fire that weapon I will kill your father. You are shaking too badly to get an accurate shot, so chances are I will at the very least have time to put a bullet in his brain before I fall."

Riley's eyebrows went up, but his smug grin was returning, which disturbed Lassiter. _What the hell does this guy have up his sleeve?_

"Please, stop, or they'll kill her," said Braden.

Lassiter felt the cold wash through him again as a stab of fear pierced his heart. "Kill who?"

Riley grinned and nodded past Lassiter to the glass door behind him. Lassiter turned, still keeping one gun on Riley, and watched with dread as the door opened. The tattooed thug sneered as he returned to the side of the woman sitting in a chair in the middle of the back room. She was bound to the chair, hand and foot, with duct tape, and gagged with it as well. Gina North. She had a bruise on her cheek and tears streaming down her face. Her eyes met his, pleading desperately. He glanced over at Braden and saw the same look. Lassiter felt his leverage melt away as a hollow feeling of defeat made his limbs feel suddenly weak.

"Now it's my turn," said Riley darkly as he began approaching again. "Put the guns down."

Lassiter turned to him and a snarl twisted his face. "What kind of sick bastard are you, hurting your own family like this? For what? Revenge?"

Riley's face flushed red and he yelled, "Put the guns down!" He nodded past Lassiter and Gina screamed behind the gag.

Lassiter turned to see Tattoo drawing a knife along the top of Gina's forearm. Blood welled up. Tattoo put the knife to Gina's throat when he saw he had Lassiter's attention. He moved around behind her and leaned over to whisper something in her ear which made her squeeze her eyes shut and sob. Braden gasped at the sound of his mother's anguish and held the gun up to aim at Lassiter's chest.

"God, just do it," said Braden haltingly.

Lassiter took a shaky breath and realized that he'd started trembling as well. A brief, insane vision flashed through his mind of trying to shoot Riley and Tattoo at the same time, but he knew it was too risky. He'd have to be firing with arms out almost straight to each side. There was no way he could be accurate. And Tattoo was still leaning over Gina, so there was too much chance of hitting her instead.

Riley took another step closer and reached out to grasp a cue stick from one of the pool tables. "If I have to say it one more time..." he began.

Lassiter squeezed his eyes shut for a brief moment and then lowered his guns. He looked at Riley with a cold, angry defiance.

"That's great. You're catching on now, detective," said Riley as he tossed the cue stick from hand to hand. "Just drop them on that table."

Lassiter turned to a table that was behind him and placed the guns on it. He saw Gina staring at him and gave her an apologetic look, then he met Braden's tortured gaze with a look of sad disappointment. Riley was stepping closer. "What now?" asked Lassiter as he turned finally to face him.

"Now, I get to avenge my good son's death."

"Good son," said Lassiter derisively, feeling the snarl return. "You mean the son you'd corrupted enough to be as dirty as you?"

Riley stopped walking, put the cue stick point down in front of him and leaned on it. Lassiter could see his eyes better now and was pretty sure he was high on something. "You think I'm dirty? You should see some of the cops I've met. Crooked as they come. Dirty is in the eye of the beholder, detective."

"You killed an innocent woman tonight, just because she came to my house. All I see is pure filth in front of me now," growled Lassiter. "And you failed, anyway, you know. You thought Justin was the son picking up your mantle but he was just a scared kid who wanted his mom back."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" said Riley.

"His last words were 'Tell mom I'm sorry we left.'"

Riley scowled and glanced at Braden and Gina, expression filled with utter contempt. "I think I'd like you to shut up now. Braden, shoot him."

Lassiter's eyes widened and he turned to look between Braden and Riley. Braden was grimacing and shaking his head, but he still had the gun aimed at Lassiter. "Is that was this is?" asked Lassiter. "You're going to force him to kill me."

"That's exactly what it is," said Riley grimly.

"And you think somehow that's going to turn him into a criminal? Into you?"

"I think it'll get him on the right track," said Riley. "It'll make him feel better too, and maybe he can stop being such a pussy. Right, Braden? You loved your little brother, didn't you? Shoot this asshole cop who killed him. Be a man."

"You're insane," said Lassiter.

"You're starting to annoy me. Didn't you ever hear the phrase 'Father knows best'? Now shut up and let me teach my son a valuable lesson."

Lassiter's throat was painfully dry. He looked around for some way to get out of the situation. Maybe Buzz would come to the door soon looking for him, but he remembered that the outside of the building didn't look anything like a pool hall. Buzz or anyone else searching the area would be hard-pressed to identify this building as the place. He shook his head in despair. He looked at Braden again and felt profoundly sorry for him, despite the fact that he was aiming a gun at him and being ordered to shoot it. He looked at Riley.

"You're just going to make him hate you," he said soberly.

Riley's face flushed again and his eyes glinted. "I said shut up!" he yelled as he lifted the cue stick and started to brandish it like a club.

Lassiter braced himself.

"What's the fucking problem, Braden?" yelled Riley. "He's just standing there. You can't miss from that distance. Fire the goddamn gun!"

Braden shook his head, gun wavering even more erratically.

"Maybe you need him to be lying down? Would that be easier?" asked Riley as he advanced on Lassiter with the cue stick. His eyes were wide and crazed. "Let's just do that."

He swung the cue stick down somewhat wildly at Lassiter's head. Lassiter jumped back and to the side to avoid the blow. Riley let out a feral growl and moved closer, pulling the stick back for another swing. As he swiveled to deliver the blow, Lassiter took a step towards him, blocking the stick to the side with his right arm as he swung a left jab as hard as he could into Riley's nose. He heard the crunch as blood spurted. Riley fell onto his back, hands to his face, screaming incoherently. Lassiter grabbed his right forearm which was throbbing with pain from blocking the cue stick. He saw that Braden was staring at his father's writhing form with a look of disbelief. He'd lowered the gun in his shock and had stopped shaking.

"Hey, cop," said Tattoo.

Lassiter pursed his lips and turned to the thug.

"That was cute and all, but, y'know," he said, holding the knife to Gina's throat again. "Come in here."

Lassiter felt the adrenaline from the scuffle with Riley draining quickly away, replaced with a wave of utter hopelessness. He narrowed his eyes and started to walk towards the back room. Gina met his gaze for a moment, her eyes reflecting his despair. He could hear Riley still cursing behind him, but then there was a shuffling noise and a sound of wood tapping the concrete floor. He heard a step and almost felt the onrush of his charge like a barreling freight train. He tried to turn, to meet the attack, but too late. The cue stick clipped his skull and smashed across his back. He saw flashes of darkness and light sparking across his vision as he fell to his knees and barely managed to catch himself with his hands. He held himself up against the pain for a moment and tried to raise his head. He heard a muffled scream from Gina, and Braden yelled something. The second blow sent him into the abyss.

oOoOoOoO

"You gonna just finish it now, Rye?" asked Tattoo loudly as Riley pulled back for a third swing. Gina's eyes were squeezed shut and her face was red.

"Dad, stop it!" Braden yelled again. "You gotta stop it!"

Riley halted his swing and straightened, looking down at Lassiter's still form. They could all see that he was still breathing, but blood was already flowing freely from a gash the cue stick had opened on his head just behind his right ear. Riley tossed the cue stick down and stumbled to a chair, sitting heavily and holding his hands up to his face. His nose was bleeding profusely, the stain running down the whole front of his shirt.

"Fuck. Braden go get me some ice from upstairs, and a towel," he said as he pulled the bottom of his shirt up and held it against his nose as a bandage. Braden put the gun down on the table by Riley and wiped at his eyes. He looked relieved to be away from the weapon. He cast an agonized look at his mother as he walked past her through the back room to the stairway that led to an upstairs apartment.

"Bastard's feisty," said Tattoo, closing and pocketing the knife before coming out of the back room to stand by Riley. He pushed at Lassiter's side with his boot. "So what the hell are we doing now?"

Riley was trying to hold his head back so the blood would slow. "Let's see what Max says," he mumbled. "Shit, I feel like I need another hit."

Gina made a muffled sound of disgust. Riley sat up and glared at her. "Jesus I can't even shut you up with a gag." She returned his glare hotly.

"I think I hear Max," said Tattoo as he walked into the back room to open the rear door.

Baldy, otherwise known as Max, walked in. He stopped short when he saw Lassiter lying on the floor and Riley covered in blood. He barked out a laugh. "Looks like it went smooth," he said. "I told you he wouldn't go down easy."

"Just shut the fuck up, all of you," growled Riley.

Braden came back down the stairs with a towel and a bowl full of ice cubes. He dropped them on the table next to his dad and then moved into the room near his mother's chair, sitting with his back against the wall. He pulled his knees up to his chest and buried his face in his crossed arms that rested on his knees.

"You get your moping out of the way now, Braden," said Riley as he assembled an ice pack and leaned back to hold it on his nose. "We're not done with this."

"The chick cop is at the terminal with two other guys. I don't know what they are. They don't look like cops. They have a couple squad cars around, but we can do it on the street and get away," said Max. "We gotta move though. They'll get restless quick."

"Search this fucker," said Riley, waving at Lassiter. "Make sure he doesn't wake up and pull a bazooka out on us or something."

Max and Tattoo pulled off Lassiter's suit coat and threw it aside and patted down his pockets. When they were done, Riley pointed to the other table. "Take his guns. I'll make sure he knows his own gun's going to be what kills his pretty partner."

Tattoo and Max walked over and each picked up a Glock.

"Okay, just gimme your knife, and drag him in there on your way out. Come back as soon as you're done. I'm thinking we're going to have a big mess to clean up here."

Tattoo tossed his knife onto the table next to Riley, then he and Max reached down, each hooking a hand under Lassiter's shoulders. They dragged him into the back room and dumped him in a heap along the wall. "Don't have too much fun now," yelled Tattoo as the two men left through the back door.


	8. Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

The fifteen minutes were almost up and Shawn was starting to think maybe they would have been better off going back for Lassie right away. The whole thing felt like a wild goose chase. Plus, Juliet's agitation had grown exponentially with each minute. He'd never seen her looking so nervous and frightened and it made him feel like giving her a big hug and fighting off whatever she was scared of with a whip while rocking a fedora. Of course, it didn't take much to make him feel like hugging Juliet or wearing a fedora. He was just about to suggest bugging out. He was sure Juliet would jump at the support for what was obviously her desire. But suddenly his gaze sharpened on a figure walking up the street towards the bus terminal. It was a man with a baseball hat. Shawn remembered the report from the shooting that the killer had worn a baseball hat with a snake on it.

"Jules," he said, reaching across the back seat to point at the man.

She leaned forward. "Is that him?" she asked with a heartbreaking hopefulness.

"I don't know. I can't see the hat from here. Snake hat, right?"

She nodded.

"Okay, want me to go check?" he asked as he was already opening the car door. "Gus, stay here buddy. I'm just going to look quick, and if you come we'll have to do the race for the shotgun all over again. I don't think Jules wants to see me beat you this time."

Gus snorted. "Just go, Shawn. And open your eyes, man, I think you're dreaming."

"Be careful, Shawn," said Juliet as she grabbed her radio in preparation to call in backup. "Just check the hat and come back."

"Roger that!" said Shawn.

He jumped out of the car and jogged across the street. The guy was entering the terminal when he reached the other side. He kept jogging to the doors and then slowed down as he entered the station. The man was standing at a change machine as Shawn walked past. He tried to walk around to the side to get a view of the hat, but the guy was facing the machine and the wall and looking downwards, so he couldn't see the logo. Shawn sighed and walked around in a circle with his hands on his hips, waiting for the guy to move and feeling agitated himself. Something about the guy's size and shape was screaming at him that it wasn't their man, but he needed to see the hat to be sure. Finally, the guy stepped back from the machine and turned towards Shawn. For a moment, Shawn's doubts pounced on him and he thought what if it's Riley? I'm in here alone with him. His heart started to race, but when he focused on the hat he saw a picture of Mickey Mouse and groaned inwardly. The guy gave him a cursory glance and walked past to sit on a bench. Shawn sighed and headed for the doors.

His phone rang and he figured it was Juliet or Gus calling to ask about the hat, but when he looked at the phone he saw it was from the hospital. His heart skipped. He answered as he pushed his way out of the doors of the station, his first thought that something had happened to his dad.

"Hello?"

"Is this Mr. Shawn Spencer?"

"Yes, what happened? Is it my dad?" 

"Sir, there's a man here desperate to contact you. His name is Bill Carcillo."

Shawn's stomach dropped to the sidewalk and he was hardly aware that he'd stopped walking. "What?"

"He was brought in earlier tonight. Can you speak with him?" There was a muffled sound on the line as of the phone being passed from hand to hand. "Shawn?" asked a familiar, pained voice. "I had to call you. They took Gina, Shawn. They broke in and beat me and I woke up here. Riley has Gina. You have to find her!"

Shawn raised his eyes to look at the Crown Vic down the street as things started to fall sickeningly into place. It was a set-up. Riley North wasn't skipping town. At least not yet. He was just getting them out of the way. Shawn started to run.

"Bill, when did this happen?" he asked as he jogged.

"About two hours ago, I think. I don't know. Can you find her? Can you sense her or something? God I don't know what he's going to do, he's crazy."

"I'll find her, Bill. Just take it easy. We're on our way now to get her," he said as he jogged across the street and over to the car. "Just relax, man. I gotta go now." He hung up and ran around the car to the rear passenger door. He realized with a twist in his gut that the thugs who had confronted Lassie in the alley had probably been on their way to kidnap Gina.

Juliet's face was shining with worry at him through the windshield when he approached. After he jumped into the back seat she turned and said, "Was it him? Who were you talking to on the phone?"

Shawn gasped for breath. "It's a set-up. That was Gina North's brother. He's in the hospital. They took her, Jules. They took her to force Braden to set us all up."

Juliet and Gus stared at him with shock as the information sank in. Juliet's face flushed red and the whites of her eyes shone wildly as she turned to put the car in gear. She grabbed the radio as she pulled out and gunned the car, speeding down the road past the terminal. Shawn sat back in the seat feeling like an idiot and thinking about Gina, hoping she wasn't hurt. Poor Lassie was walking straight into a trap. He should've known better than to go get Braden alone, but then they all should've known better. They'd all been played for fools and had played their parts to perfection.

Juliet was snapping her orders into the phone and directing the other units to Olive Street. Then she called Buzz directly but he said he hadn't seen any cabs yet. He also said he couldn't find a pool hall anywhere on the street. Shawn's eyes narrowed. Where had they lured Lassie then? He was being reckless going to get Braden alone, but he still wasn't stupid. He wouldn't walk into a random building for no reason. Maybe they had a place that looked like a pool hall but wasn't a pool hall? Shawn thought about private club houses. So maybe it was a place that still had pool tables in it...his brain buzzed along with those thoughts as he sat forward in the seat again, gazing out the windshield as Juliet raced down the street. He saw headlights coming at them in the other lane and squinted. The car got closer and he thought it looked familiar. It was an older model, boxy with square headlights. He flashed on a memory of an older car passing them on the street when he and Gus had been racing for the honor of shotgun. A spike of cold realization hit his chest. The Buick. It had driven past them at the terminal. Why hadn't he noticed that? And now it was driving towards them.

"Juliet," he said warningly. "Buick."

The car suddenly swerved into their lane when it was half a block away.

"JULES!" screamed Shawn as he braced himself against the front seats with his hands. He noticed, oddly, in a periphery of his mind that Gus had his seat belt on. Figures, he thought as he wished time could stop and he could strap himself in.

Juliet swerved the car, pulling the wheel hard to the left. Shawn was squished up against the rear passenger door. The other car pulled hard to its left so that they narrowly missed each other as they sped past. Juliet slammed on the brakes and pulled the wheel to the right again, whipping the back end around and throwing Shawn across the back of the car. His left shoulder slammed into the other door and he yelped in pain. Gus had his arms thrown up in front of his face and was emitting a high-pitched keen. The car came to a shuddering stop, and Shawn wrenched himself off of the door to look out the windshield again. The Buick had stopped perpendicular to them so that it was sitting across both lanes of the road. He could see that two men were climbing out of the car, both through the driver's door so that they'd be on the other side of the vehicle from Juliet's car. His heart skipped as he realized what that probably meant.

"Jules they're gonna..."

"I know, Shawn. Get down," gritted Juliet as she threw off her seat belt and pulled out her gun.

Gus peered between his arms and then looked at Juliet with wide eyes. He unbuckled his belt and squished himself down onto the floor, tucking under the dashboard as much as he could. Shawn was always amazed at his hunkering and pelting and other danger-aversion techniques. The man was a speedy self-preservationist.

Juliet grabbed the radio and tried to get a call out on their position, but then bullets started flying. She yelled their street location, tossed the radio aside and opened her door, ducking down behind it and leaning her arms on it to return fire.

"Jules, car doors aren't...," began Shawn with a concerned note in his voice.

"It's lined, Shawn."

"Sweet! Do you happen to have a button that will deploy missiles too?"

"Shut up, Shawn," said Juliet as she picked her shots.

Shawn was sitting on the floor of the backseat trying to peek through the tiny gap between the front seats. He could make out two men leaning over the Buick, one at the hood and one at the trunk. They were the thugs Lassie had mentioned. The side mirror near Juliet's head exploded. Juliet fell backwards out of Shawn's view.

"Juliet!" he yelled.

He scooted over to the door and looked out the window. Juliet was pushing herself off of her rear and getting back into position, checking her clip while she was at it. A bullet tore through the windshield and nicked the top of the front seats where Shawn's head had been moments before. Gus screamed. Shawn could feel his eyes popping out of his head. They had to do something, this wasn't going well.

"Gus! Put the car in gear!"

"What! No way Shawn!"

"Gus we're getting swiss-cheesed here! We need to engage ramming mode!"

"Are you crazy?" yelled Gus as Juliet began firing again.

"Yes, I'm crazy about avoiding additional holes in my person. I almost had a new part in my hair, dammit. We have to change the equation!" Shawn peered through the gap between the door and the front seat.

"Go for it! Backup should be here any second," yelled Juliet as she fired. She hit the trunk of the car near the tattooed guy's arm. The guy yelped and fell backwards. Shawn thought he might've seen a splash of red too. Hopefully she'd winged him

"Come on, Gus, just reach up and put it in drive, then lean over and push the gas. You don't have to get above the dash," encouraged Shawn.

Gus let out a growl of frustration. "I hate you Shawn," he said as he leaned over and reached for the gear shift.

"Get ready, Jules!" yelled Shawn. "You can bring up the rear and mop up after the havoc we meek!"

"It's 'wreak' Shawn, not 'meek'!" groused Gus. "And don't you DARE say you've heard it both ways." He pulled the gear shift into drive and then leaned on his belly to reach around for the gas pedal. "Are you ready, Juliet?"

"Ready," she said, hunkering down and getting ready for her cover to move.

Gus pushed on the pedal and the car started accelerating towards the Buick. Shawn heard one of the thugs let out a yell. Juliet fell back and Shawn could see that she'd moved around to run behind the car.

"Faster, Gus!"

"You must be out of your damn mind!"

When the cars were only twenty feet or so away, Shawn bellowed, "Brace yourself! Impact!"

And then they T-boned the Buick. Shawn felt like his face was going to meld with the pleather seat as they hit. Gus screamed again. After the collision, Shawn fell backwards, the small of his back bent over the seat while his legs ended up in a painful pretzel pose on the floor. He was going to be feeling this little adventure for a few days, he thought ruefully. He could hear Juliet yelling and the sound of sirens, but the gunfire had stopped. He pulled himself up to throw a cautious glance over the seat. Juliet was on the other side of the Buick aiming her gun towards the ground where he couldn't see and yelling various "freeze" and "stay down" instructions at the thugs. The backup units had pulled up and several uniforms were rushing to help her.

"We're good, Gus. You can come out now," said Shawn as he pulled himself up onto the seat and rubbed at his left shoulder where he'd been tossed into the door.

Gus groaned. "I think I'm stuck," he said ruefully.

Shawn leaned forward and looked down at his friend. He'd been shoved under the dashboard almost unbelievably far. "Dude, you're in the engine."

"Really, Shawn? I wonder why."

"Hang on, buddy," said Shawn as he climbed across the seat and got out of the car. He opened the passenger door and leaned in, scanning his friend. He saw that one of the back loops of Gus's pants had snagged on something on the underbelly of the dash. Shawn reached in and tried to pry the loop off of the metal it had hooked onto, but the weight of his body was causing too much resistance. Shawn leaned in further and brought his other hand in, one on the metal hook and one on Gus's pant loop. "Lift your butt, man."

There was a sound of a throat being cleared behind him. "Are you guys okay?" asked Juliet. "Or do you need some private time?"

Gus raised his head and banged it on the dashboard. "Shawn!"

"Well it's stuck! Do you want me to rip the loop off your pants?"

"No way, these are $200 pants, Shawn."

"They are not. Now just lift...a...little...bit..." he finally pushed the loop off of the metal piece and Gus was free. Shawn sat back with a sigh and looked sheepishly up at Juliet. "Oh hey there, Jules. Fancy meeting you here."

A faint smile flickered on her face but then it turned into a grimace. "We have to go," she said, anxiety clouding her features again.

Shawn nodded. "Can we take this car now?" The engine had stalled after their impact and he wasn't sure it would run again with the abuse it had taken.

"Let's take a squad car. Come on."

oOoOoOoO

Lassiter felt like an elephant had stepped on his head, and he tried to remember why he would've been around an elephant. Had they gotten a call for a circus crime? He didn't have an extreme hatred of clowns like some people, but he had to admit they could be quite creepy. Same with those bearded ladies, really what the hell? His drifting thoughts shifted towards focus then and he realized something was wrong. Something had gone wrong. His eyes were closed. _Am I sleeping? Did I go on a bender?_ He remembered being in a bar. Maybe he'd finally been able to drink himself to oblivion over Lisa's... Everything came back to him then. He drew in a hissing breath and opened his eyes only to close them again immediately as the light sent a spike of pain straight to his core. He groaned. Someone made a mumbling noise. He tried to take stock of his condition. His head felt like it had exploded, check. His back felt like he'd been run over by a car, check. His fingers worked, though, and his toes. He tried his eyes again, opening them in the barest of slits until he could get used to the light. He tried moving his arms. His right arm was free and lying on the floor in front of him, but his left was trapped. He was lying on his left shoulder but rolled mostly onto his stomach so he couldn't move his arm. He opened his eyes a little further. He could see a woman's feet on the floor nearby and he remembered Gina North.

He blinked as his eyes finally tolerated the light and tried moving his head. A fireworks display went off in his vision that might've been pretty to watch if it didn't make him feel like immediately throwing up. He squeezed his eyes shut again, grimacing, and took a few deep breaths to fight back the nausea. Gina mumbled again against her gag. He listened, trying to decipher her "words." She seemed desperate to get her idea across. Then another thought struck him. He could only hear her, and didn't hear Riley or Braden or Tattoo. He opened his eyes again, pushing back the pain and discomfort to focus on a possible chance at escape. He put his right hand on the floor and pushed himself onto his side, feeling the wall against his back. The room slipped and rolled around him like an amusement park ride. He clamped his mouth shut and breathed quickly through his nose as he flicked his eyes around the room. They were alone.

He looked at Gina and saw a look of desperate hope, which caused him a small shock of surprise. The last time he'd seen this woman, she had slapped him. He'd felt the waves of grief-fueled hatred she'd thrown at him. And now she was looking at him with hope. He prayed it wasn't a false hope. He took another deep breath and tried to pull his left elbow underneath himself, then he put his numb left hand on the floor and pushed himself into a sitting position against the wall. He made it and paid for it with a wave of dizziness that threatened to send him back to the ground. He leaned back against the wall with his head back and eyes closed, focusing on his breathing for a moment. He had to hurry, though. There was no telling when Riley or the thug would return. He forced his eyes open and gritted his teeth. Gina was mumbling again, and he thought she was encouraging him. _Must be the concussion making me imagine things_. He looked around the room and saw the back door. If he could get Gina free, she might be able to escape. He looked at her again and saw that she was bound with duct tape.

Taking another steadying breath, he pushed off and leaned forward, pulling his knees underneath him. His head split into two pieces. He leaned on his hands and knees and gasped. The pain felt like a tangible presence in the room, like a force pushing through him from the inside out. He raised his right hand to his head almost involuntarily, as if to push the two halves back together. When he touched his face and head he felt the stickiness, pulling back to see the red on his fingers. Not good. He was running out of time in so many ways. He started to crawl towards the chair as if crawling through a minefield, explosions going off every time his head was jostled. He reached the chair and pulled himself up onto his knees next to it, picking at the duct tape around Gina's right wrist.

"Hang on," he whispered through clenched teeth.

Her hand flapped up and down and she tried to wriggle her arm to help loosen her binds. He had to keep his eyes on the tape, focusing on the task at hand, because otherwise he was pretty sure he'd puke. The edges of his vision seemed to have a strange dark fuzziness. He swallowed thickly and kept pulling at the sticky silver material, trying to get a tear going. His fingers felt oddly weak and he had to will strength into them. The tape had been rolled around her wrist two or three times, and it was hard to pick through. After a few moments he got a tear going and pulled harder at it. He felt his nausea ease and his head seemed to clear marginally. As he pulled at the ripping tape he noticed the cut on Gina's arm. It was several inches long and would need stitches.

"Don't pull too hard. That's a nasty cut on your arm, you'll make it worse," he said as he made the last couple of tugs to get her wrist free.

"Mmmph."

He looked up and saw tears on her face. He reached across her to help with the left wrist. She was already picking at it desperately with her freed hand. "Just hang on," he said. "Hang in there."

The tape came away more quickly with an extra hand. Lassiter let her finish it off and leaned over to start on the tape around her ankles. A swarm of spots invaded his vision and he had to pause, taking a few deep breaths to get through the spell. Gina was pulling at the tape on her face, grunting and desperate to get the gag out of her mouth.

"Oh god," she gasped when she'd finally ripped the tape free. "I'm so sorry."

He blinked away the last of the spots and squinted up at her, incredulous. "What?" 

"I'm sorry they've done this," she said, face twisted in anguish. "I heard what he did."

"Let's just get you out of here," he said, feeling the jab of his own anguish responding to hers by trying to split his head open again.

They heard voices on the stairs. "Oh god," she gasped, leaning over to rip wildly at her taped ankles.

Lassiter realized she wouldn't get free in time. Riley's voice was getting louder and he could hear their footfalls on the steps. He looked around for a weapon, wincing at the movement of his head. Nothing was close.

"Come on, dad, let's just leave. We can start over somewhere else. Just stop all of this, please!" said Braden as their voices approached the bottom of the steps and the opening to the room.

"I'm not done, Braden, and you're not done, so stop whining at me, dammit," said Riley.

"You got your revenge! They're going after his partner now too, what more do you need?"

Lassiter's heart felt like it leapt out of his chest at those words. His guns. They'd probably taken his guns, and they'd gone after Juliet with them. He put his hands on the armrest of the chair and pushed himself to his feet, jaw set. Pain shot down his back and he closed his eyes for a steadying moment. _No no no no. I can't let that happen. That won't happen._ He felt an odd sensation, as if something was eclipsing his whole being. The pain and dizziness and despair were pushed aside as a single need took over. Stop them. He would stop them. He opened his eyes and took a deep breath, ready to spring at whoever came through the opening first. He was going to stop this, with only his bare hands if he had to.

"You can't fight him," hissed Gina, apparently sensing his intention. "They're already gone. Help me get loose."

Riley's' voice rang out closer. "You still need to get your revenge, Braden. I told you. I can't trust you anymore until you do this."

"Dad I'll go with you. I'll do anything else, but I can't do that. I just can't."

Riley came through the opening from the stairway. His face was a mess of blood and tape, and two wads of cloth were sticking out of his nostrils. He had apparently tried to apply a makeshift splint to his nose with Braden's help.

"Shit!" He froze just inside the room at the sight of Lassiter. Braden stepped into view behind him with wide eyes.

Lassiter lunged, feeling oddly detached from himself, focusing only on doing damage. He tried to swing at Riley's head, smash his nose in again, but the other man somehow moved more quickly, ducking aside and grabbing at Lassiter's arms, tying them up. They grappled for a moment as Braden jumped off to the side and Gina continued to pull at the tape on her ankles. Lassiter could see the gun tucked into the front of Riley's jeans, but he couldn't free his arms. He struggled, feeling the overwhelming desire to fight being undercut by his injuries. His heart started to ache as he grunted and tried to pull his arms from Riley's grip. "If she's hurt I'm going to rip your head off," he growled, despairing at the emptiness of the words even as he spoke them.

Riley's face was twisted and grotesque looking from damage and black fury. "I think it's time to put you down for good," he said. Then he pulled his right arm back and threw a quick, hard punch to Lassiter's gut.

Lassiter's rage-fueled energy disappeared with his breath and he collapsed to his knees, the world swirling around him in a vortex of airless pain. _ I failed again. I can't save her. I can't save anyone. Sommer, Lisa, Juliet, even Braden. I failed them._ He waited on hands and knees for breath to return or for a death blow from Riley, whichever was going to come first. He waited. The vortex broke up into images and sounds that his brain could again decipher. He drew in a thin, painful breath.

"You're a monster! When did you become such a monster?" screamed Gina, one ankle still taped to the chair. She was standing up and trying to pound on Riley's back with her fists as he stood over Lassiter. He had the knife in his hand, the three-inch blade open. He turned and shoved her so that she sat heavily in the chair again.

"Shut your mouth," he said, turning to brandish the knife in her face. "You're the cause of all of this."

"Is it drugs? You're doing more drugs? Oh god, Braden, tell me you're not doing them too," she said, ignoring the knife as she looked at her son.

Braden shook his head.

"Stop talking to him, bitch," yelled Riley. "You already messed him up beyond repair. I can't believe he's my son." He turned and stalked towards Braden with the knife still raised. "You're so damned gutless. I think you must not really be my son."

Braden's face twisted with pain. "Stop it!"

"Show me, then," he said, pulling the gun out of his waistband and pushing it into Braden's hands. "Shoot that cop. Or I'll know you're not my son. Shoot him or I'll know you didn't love your little brother."

"Riley you're insane. I don't know how I ever loved you, dammit," cried Gina. "But you got my baby killed and now look at what you're doing. Just look!"

Riley whipped around to face her again, his face a mask of pure hatred. Lassiter sat back on his heels as his breathing returned, blinking through the swirling spots of his vision as he tried to remain conscious. He was kneeling on the floor to Gina's right and a little in front of the chair. He could see the drug-fueled frenzy in Riley's eyes. _He's going to kill her_. He pulled one foot up so that he was on one knee as time seemed to slow in front of him. Gina stood up again, screaming something at Riley. His face hardened with determination and his eyes shone. Lassiter saw his right hand with the knife pull back as he took a step towards her. He started to swing his arm forward with an underhanded thrust. Lassiter pushed up to his feet. He grabbed at Gina with his left hand, pulling hard on her to try to yank her out of the way as well as to help get himself upright. She screamed as she lost her balance and fell partway back into the chair which then tipped over, landing her on the floor on her right side. Lassiter continued his upward momentum, meeting Riley's forward progress and putting his right hand out to try to push Riley's knife-hand away.

They came together and Riley put his left hand on Lassiter's shoulder and shoved. Their momentum spun them towards the edge of the room. Riley kept driving until he body-slammed Lassiter up against the wall hard. There was pain. A whole new dimension of pain, suddenly. It felt like something alive and frenzied. It was at once the most significant part of his being, everything else eclipsed. He looked down and saw Riley's hand move away, revealing the knife hilt. It jutted out from just underneath his ribs on his left side. He was pinned, like a bug in some museum display. He knew the knife wasn't long enough to go all the way through his body, but it felt like it was. It felt like the world had suddenly collapsed in on itself to occupy that one point of utter and profound pain, like a black hole sucking away his existence.

He felt Riley holding him up against the wall and saying something, but his words didn't register. He could sense his triumphant sneer, but he didn't look at him. His eyes could only look at the hilt. His hands found it, finally, tentatively, and he tried to cradle it like it was suddenly the most precious thing in his life. Blood was flowing around it. He pushed his hands against his body, fingers surrounding the knife, and watched as they slowly started to turn red. He didn't feel his legs giving way as he slid down the wall after Riley released him. Suddenly he was just sitting on the floor, head bowed over the overwhelming clarity of pain protruding from his core. For a few dark moments, the only idea he could articulate to himself was: _I tried. I'm sorry_.

After a strange eternity, he realized he was still aware of things outside of himself, voices and movement, though they were jumbled and dark and made no sense. After another eon, he understood that his eyes were closed. He kept waiting for his life to fade away. He desired it, actually. Oblivion. Epochs slipped along, but somehow he was still pinned to the world. It figured that the oblivion wouldn't grant him relief. He felt a sudden surge of indignation and opened his eyes. The hilt looked like an abomination. It angered him further. He felt his breathing quicken slightly and wondered that he could breathe at all with the knife inside him. It had apparently missed his lung. He thought about pulling it out but thought maybe he shouldn't. He didn't have the strength anyway. He looked at his bloody hands and felt a frisson run down his spine as if a circle had been completed. A tear fell onto his thumb and made a streak through the blood, cleaning a tiny bit of it away.

The transcendent reality of pain retracted like a balloon slowly deflating. He was still pinned and achingly afraid to move, but his brain was registering the world more clearly again. First came the sound of screaming. Riley and Braden were arguing. Apparently, shockingly, only a minute or two had passed since he'd been stabbed. He took a risk and started to tentatively raise his head. The movement didn't add too much pain so he continued until he could see the room. Riley was advancing on Braden menacingly, berating him, goading him. Braden was screaming back, face streaked with tears as he tried to brandish the gun at his father. Lassiter could see Gina straining to rip the tape from her other ankle from her awkward position on the floor, tears running down her face as it twisted in anguish. Her eyes found Lassiter and widened with shock. Apparently he wasn't the only one surprised that he was still alive.

Riley pushed at Braden and yelled, "You're useless. You won't shoot me, you useless little piece of shit."

Braden kicked out at Riley and then pulled the gun up, arms shaking, aiming at his father's chest. "I will, you asshole. I will!"

Riley stepped back and held his arms out to his sides with a sneer. "Do it then. Do it or I'm going to kill your mother while you watch, and then I'm going to kill you."

Braden straightened his arms and set his jaw. Gina watched her son, frozen with horror.

Lassiter looked at the scared kid, gun shaking in his grip, desperate for a way out. Desperate for someone to save him. Trapped and thinking that his only way to escape was to fire his weapon. He saw Justin again, and remembered what he'd yelled at him before he'd shot him, before the kid had fired on his partner and his reflexes had taken over. He hadn't saved Justin, couldn't stop him from making a mistake that would ruin his life, but he could still save Braden.

"Don't shoot," said Lassiter. Braden and Riley both looked at him in shock. He drew in shallow breaths, puffing them out again, struggling with the effort of speech. "Don't, Braden," he managed to speak again. "Don't shoot."

Braden met Lassiter's eyes and blinked, lowering the weapon, a sense of hopeful relief in his gaze. Riley's eyes hardened and he started to move towards his son. The back door was wrenched open at the same time a loud banging sound came from the front room as the front door was busted inwards. Juliet rushed into the room along with Buzz and what seemed to be a sea of uniformed officers. More flooded in from the front. There was a sudden cacophony of yelling. Braden dropped the gun and raised his hands instantly. Riley's eyes went wild with fury. He tried to lash out, but Buzz tackled him to the ground. Juliet turned her gun on Braden and then lowered it. Her eyes swung around further and landed on Lassiter, widening in horror.

"Carlton!" she gasped as she holstered her weapon and ran to him, dropping to her knees at his side, her hands hovering above the hilt and her face twisting with anguish. She bellowed over her shoulder. "I need the medics here RIGHT NOW!"

"Hey, partner," he said, hearing his voice as if from a distance. He gazed at her, feeling the sweetest sense of relief he'd ever felt. She was okay. His partner was safe. She'd saved herself, of course. And he'd managed to save Gina. He'd also helped Braden after all. That was going to have to be good enough.

Juliet was speaking to him, but he couldn't make out the words anymore. She put her hands on his face, but her touch felt remote. He started to feel like he was floating on a raft in a pool, the room around him bobbing gently. The pain seemed to be receding. He wasn't sure why, but he wasn't about to complain. His relief at seeing Juliet was like a warmth spreading through his whole body. It made him feel sleepy. He'd had a really long day. He figured he could take a rest now. He closed his eyes.

oOoOoOoO

Two days later, Juliet was sitting in the chair next to Lassiter's hospital bed, holding his hand. He still woke up disoriented, so she made sure he could always feel her hand in his first thing. She was relieved at the progress he was making, although he was going to be in the hospital for at least the rest of the week. The knife had punctured his small intestine but hadn't done any major damage otherwise. He'd had to undergo emergency surgery to fix the wound. It had taken several agonizing hours through which Shawn and Gus had been hard-pressed to keep her sane, she'd been so far gone with fatigue and stress by then.

At some point she'd collapsed on a waiting room couch and had finally slept with her two guards keeping watch, along with Chief Vick who had joined their vigil. She'd found upon waking that the surgery had gone well. The doctors were confident that they'd located and repaired all of the damage, and that he would recover with no lasting effects. He also had a concussion, but there had been no skull fracture, luckily. He was still asleep most of the time from the medications. The nurse told her that they would start cutting back on the drugs the next day, and that he'd be more alert when he was awake after that.

Juliet shifted in her seat and sighed. The chair wasn't the most comfortable thing. The next time she took a quick trip home, she told herself to remember a throw pillow to add some cushioning. And a blanket. The room got chilly sometimes. She might as well make herself at home, after all. Vick had given her a week's leave, and she was determined to spend as much of that time as possible in this room. She looked over at the book on the rolling table, not really feeling like reading but not sure what else to do with herself.

She looked at Lassiter again and shivered as she remembered her first sight of him sitting against the wall with the knife in his gut. She'd felt a stab of pain in her own gut, and a crushing fear in her chest. It was all of the blood. She was used to seeing blood, but not that much of it on her partner. The right side of his face and neck and upper part of his white shirt had all been stained with it. And then his stomach. His hands around the knife hilt. She remembered flashing back to the shooting scene when his hands had been that soaked in blood, but then it had been Justin North's. This time it was his own. She'd panicked, yelling for medics and yelling at Lassiter to stay with her. He'd just looked at her with relief and had said "Hey, partner" as if greeting her on a normal work morning. Then he'd smiled and closed his eyes. Shawn and Gus had come in with the paramedics and had helped her stand up to leave them room to work. She was pretty sure she would've fallen over if they hadn't been there to support her. She'd been so frightened that he was gone.

His fingers flexed and then squeezed her hand. She looked up and saw his eyes open. "Juliet?" he asked, blinking against the light in the room.

She stood up and leaned over so he could see her more easily. "I'm here, Carlton. Are you thirsty?"

She picked up the cup she already had prepared and held the straw up to his lips. He took a few sips and then leaned his head back, looking at her with hazy eyes. "Are you okay?" he asked.

She smiled at his question. He asked it every time he woke up. "I'm fine. How are you feeling?"

"I had the dream again," he said sadly, looking away up at the ceiling.

"I'm sorry." He'd been dreaming about Lisa, but he hadn't told her the details of the dream. She just knew it wasn't a pleasant one.

"How long have I been here?"

"Two days, now. You just need a few more days of rest and you're going to be fine."

"Have you been here the whole time?"

She'd told him that she'd gone out a few times, but his memory was still sketchy and she had to repeat things occasionally. "Most of it. I went out yesterday while you were sleeping," she said, then she hesitated, unsure about bringing up the topic. She didn't want to upset him, but she felt like he should know. "I talked to Lisa's parents."

He looked at her again, gaze sharper and full of guilt.

"It's okay, Carlton," she said. "I filled them in on the details of how and why it happened. I thought they should know." She felt her eyes starting to sting and tried to fight it back. She forced a smile instead.

"I'm sorry you had to do that," he said gruffly, looking away again. "It should've been me."

"Well, you were a little busy, you know, recovering from a stab wound," she said with what she knew was a failed attempt at levity. She sighed. "I wanted to do it. I...well...nevermind."

"You feel responsible," said Lassiter, finishing her thought. He grimaced. "You might feel responsible, but I'm the one responsible for what happened."

She sighed. "No, you aren't. And neither am I, okay? Riley North is the only one to blame for Lisa's death, and he's paying for it now. He will be for the rest of his life."

He shook his head, mouth set in a line, pain wrinkling the edges of his eyes.

She wanted to share the conversation with him, so that he could feel some of the relief she'd felt after talking to Lisa's parents. She'd found it so hard to forgive herself, and she knew he was being just as hard or harder on himself. He needed to forgive himself, though, to heal, and she was going to make sure he did that. "Her parents thanked me, Carlton, for telling them. They don't blame you, or me. They were happy to know that we caught Riley. And they told me that they would be praying for you."

He squeezed his eyes shut. She felt the sting in her eyes turning to tears, berating herself for pushing this on him too soon. "Oh god, Carlton, I'm sorry. I'm not supposed to let you get upset," she said with a hitch in her voice.

He looked at her then. "Don't cry, Juliet," he said.

Something about the way he said it made her tears flow faster. She choked back a sob, feeling suddenly embarrassed. She was still holding his left hand tightly, so he held up his right arm. She leaned over and put her face on his right shoulder as he wrapped his arm around her in a hug.

"It's okay," he said, patting her shoulder. "I'm okay."


	9. Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9 / EPILOGUE

The days in the hospital room passed slowly. At first, he slept a lot, but once the drugs were reduced he was awake more and more. Still, much of the time, they sat in silence. He would lay with his head back, staring out the window with half-lidded eyes. When she would speak, he would respond, but he didn't start conversations. They didn't talk about Lisa anymore, but she worried at that and kept trying to figure out how to bring up the topic. Then she would just decide to wait a little while longer...give him more time. They played card games occasionally. Shawn and Gus visited fairly often and he didn't even seem terribly annoyed by them, most of the time. Admittedly, they did try to be on their best behavior, but they still slipped into occasional bouts of teasing. One day they brought in a DVD of _Lassie Come Home_ which she confiscated immediately, shaking her head at their puppy-dog looks.

On the fourth day, when she was almost dozing in the mid-afternoon quiet, he cleared his throat and sat up a little straighter in his bed.

"Juliet," he began soberly. "I need to do something. I need your help."

She sat up, suddenly alert, and braced herself. "What is it?"

"I want to go to her funeral," he said, not meeting her gaze.

She blinked. "Oh. It's tomorrow. I'm not sure they'll clear you to leave the hospital, yet."

"Can you get that done for me?" he asked, finally looking at her with a desperate need that made her heart skip.

She took a deep breath. "Are you sure?"

He nodded and cleared his throat again, looking down at his hands.

"Okay, Carlton. I'll talk to your doctor," she said.

She was simultaneously anxious at the idea and relieved. They hadn't talked about Lisa, and he hadn't seemed to really grieve yet. She knew he needed to, though. Maybe this would be a way for him to deal with her death, finally. Juliet got clearance from his doctor for a three hour leave, but she was told to keep him from exerting himself and that he should stay in a wheelchair. She was dubious about her chances with that, but she agreed to try. When she told him, he had one more request.

The next day, she brought her car around to the entrance of the hospital and waited, fidgeting with her dress uniform. Finally, the automatic door opened and a nurse came out pushing Lassiter in a wheelchair. He was wearing his dress uniform as well which she had retrieved from his apartment the night before. Her eyes started to sting and she berated herself for getting emotional before they'd even left for the funeral. His mouth was set in a grim line, but otherwise his expression was hidden by his aviators. He pushed himself gingerly out of the chair and climbed into the front passenger seat as Juliet helped the nurse fold up the chair and put it in the back seat. They drove to the funeral home in silence. She noticed that he was holding his right hand over his stomach where the knife had gone in. He'd been doing that a lot lately, and she was pretty sure it was unconscious. She glanced again at his face as they drove but his jaw was set.

"You okay?" she asked.

"Fine," he said, jaw clenched.

She sighed. The closer they got, the more she could sense anxiety radiating from him, and she wondered if she should've agreed to bring him. When they arrived, almost everyone from the department was present. The officers all had their dress uniforms on, even though Lisa hadn't been an officer herself. Shawn and Gus were wearing nice suits, and even Henry was present. Juliet and Chief Vick managed to keep Lassiter in the wheelchair through the service, but when they went to the ceremony at the grave he insisted on standing. Juliet stayed next to him the whole time, and when Lisa's parents approached, she could feel him shiver. She put a hand on his arm but his face was set and stoic. Lisa's mother hugged him warmly and told him she was glad he was getting better. Lisa's father shook his hand and thanked Lassiter for being her friend. He told him she'd mentioned enjoying her date with him, and they'd been happy to hear it. He managed to respond to both of them with a steady voice, speaking words of consolation for their loss and words of thanks for their kind thoughts. But as soon as they moved away, she felt him start to slump.

"I think it's time to go," she whispered to him, and he just nodded. His jaw was trembling and he put his sunglasses back on quickly.

When she brought his wheelchair over, he fell into it heavily and put his hand on his stomach, clenching at his dress coat tightly. Shawn came over, then, inquiring, and she could see concern in his eyes, but she told him they just had to get back to the hospital and asked him to say their goodbyes to everyone. He nodded. She could see he understood. The drive back was just as silent, though his anxiety had been replaced with an aura of desolation. She'd been so worried about him through the event that she hadn't even cried herself, but she knew it was coming. They got back to the hospital and got him changed and settled again in his bed. A nurse checked him over, and then finally they were alone in the room. The silence was alive. It seemed to be waiting.

Carlton was resting in the reclined bed, looking out the window with his half-lidded eyes, then he suddenly sat up straight and looked at her. She stood up immediately and went to him. He opened his mouth, but the words couldn't come out for a moment. She sat on the edge of the bed and pulled his right hand from his stomach, squeezing it with both of hers. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to swallow several times, then he opened his eyes again.

"I wish...," he started in a rasping whisper, looking at her with bright pain. Then his gaze shifted inwards to the well of grief he'd been holding in for so long. "Oh god...why couldn't I stop it?" His eyes filled and began to spill over. He put his left hand up to his mouth and gasped as he started to, finally, let it all go.

She threw her arms around him and hugged him as he cried in great, heaving sobs. She hung on and held him tight against the storm of emotion, feeling her own tears soaking into his shirt. Part of her worried at the violence of his wracking breaths, hoping that he wasn't doing himself damage. But it was a storm they had to weather. She kept her arms secure around him, holding him together as he covered his face with his hands and grieved.

oOoOoOoO

"You know how people always ask us how we can do this job, when there's a chance, every day, that something could happen, that we could be killed? I guess they think that must be our worst fear."

Juliet was standing at the window, looking out at the sunrise, feeling raw and hollowed out from the previous night's catharsis. She hadn't realized he was awake and turned to him, studying him for a moment. His eyes were still bright with sadness, but his color looked better than it had for a week. He was going to be released in another day or two. She hoped, finally, after everything, that they were over the last hurdles, that things could start getting back to normal.

"Yes," she said simply, waiting.

"Well, they're wrong," he said, staring out the window at the rising sun.

"What's your worst fear?"

"Killing an innocent person," he said, the hollowness of his voice suggesting a world of guilt.

"You didn't kill an innocent person, Carlton," she said softly.

"Close enough," he said.

She sighed, thinking perhaps the hurdles weren't quite all gone. "Do you know what my worst fear is?" she asked.

"What is it?"

"Losing my partner," she said, meeting his eyes.

He pursed his lips and drew in a deep breath, then he nodded and looked down at his fidgeting hands. After several minutes of silence he cleared his throat. "Hey, I never asked how you found me," he said. "That building wasn't obviously a pool hall. Did you just start breaking down all of the doors on Olive Street?"

"I was about to do that," she said with a wry grin. "But then Shawn got a sense of the right building."

Lassiter rolled his eyes in a way that she hadn't seen for too long. "Spencer," he said with a note of forced dismay. "What did he do, get a vision of cue balls?"

"Blue chalk," she said. "He spotted some on the sidewalk outside of the door."

Lassiter gave a half shrug and nodded. "I see. He's got a good eye," he admitted quietly.

Juliet smiled and nodded back.

"So I missed a sweet shootout over car hoods then," he said, obviously in a talkative mood.

She laughed. "It didn't seem so sweet at the time."

"I know, but it sounds like you really kicked butt, partner."

She grinned. "Oh! I should tell you what happened to Gus at the end. Oh my gosh, that was funny. I'd almost forgotten about it."

He sat up straighter in bed and started smiling in advance. "What?"

"Oh, god, if I tell you, you have to keep it a secret. He'll kill me if he knows I told you."

"Screw that. Just tell me!"

She laughed and told him the story.

oOoOoOoO

His last day in the hospital, Gina North came to visit. She walked into the room tentatively, as if they wouldn't welcome her presence, but then she gave both Juliet and Lassiter big hugs which took them by surprise. She told them about Braden's case, and that they were hoping he wouldn't get too much jail time. His lawyer was pushing hard for probation and community service since he was cooperating and was going to testify against his father, but they'd have to wait and see how it worked out. She thanked them both, for helping him and for finally getting Riley behind bars. Her eyes teared up and she put her hand on Lassiter's, looking him in the eye and saying "thank you" and "I'm sorry." He choked up a bit and simply said the same things back to her.

Three weeks later they were sitting on a bench near the beach, watching the sun set over the ocean. They'd made it a habit after he'd been released to have dinner every night. Over the past weeks, he'd gotten a clean bill of health from his doctor and had gone through all of the required psychological evaluations in the aftermath of the shooting and stabbing incidents. The IA investigation of the shooting had been completed, and he'd been cleared. He'd received notice that evening that he was officially reinstated and could start work again the next day. She could tell he was relieved, and she was too.

The weeks off had been hard for him. He was never a fan of psych evals, and he'd had to undergo more intensive ones than normal because of everything he'd gone through. He'd managed to get through his time off well enough, though. He'd even discovered a way to cope with his forced exile by turning the tables on Shawn for a while. He'd taken to walking into the Psych office and talking to Shawn about his shooting range performance of the day or about episodes of _Cops_ he'd been watching, enthusiastically critiquing them to Shawn's dismay. It got to the point where Shawn had tried to take refuge at the station, begging her to get Lassie to leave him alone while he was trying to work. She'd been unable to hold in her laughter at that, and she was pretty sure Shawn was still a little mad at her. She couldn't help it though, the thought still made her smile.

She sighed and crumpled up the paper wrapping from her sandwich. She'd had to work late, and he'd agreed to meet her for dinner at the bench. They'd done it often enough over the past three weeks. Her cases had been keeping her busy with having no partner to help.

"I realize I never told you about my dream," said Lassiter out of the blue as he gazed out at the sunset.

Her eyebrows raised. "No. Do you want to?"

He gave a half-shrug, but then he said, "That night, the dinner with Lisa, she hugged me when she left. It kind of surprised me, and I didn't really hug back."

Juliet's brow furrowed as she waited.

"That's all, really. I just keep dreaming about the hug, then I wake up when my phone rings."

"I'm sorry, Carlton."

"I know," he said with a wave of his hand. "It's just that, last night, I dreamed that I returned her hug. It's the first time I dreamed that."

Juliet looked at him with a sad smile, but he kept his gaze on the horizon. They sat in silence for a few minutes, then Juliet straightened and stretched her arms. She still had work to finish and had to return to the station.

"So are you ready to get back to work tomorrow?" she asked, glancing at him from the corner of her eye.

He was sitting with his left arm stretched out on the back of the bench and his right hand resting on his stomach. He seemed content.

"Absolutely," he said, with feeling. He looked at her with an enthusiastic glint in his eye. "Are you ready to have me back?"

"Oh, hell yeah," she said with equal feeling. "I have a month's worth of paperwork for you to finish."

A grin spread slowly on his face, and then he started to laugh. She laughed along with him. "Okay partner," he said through his laughter. "You got it."

THE END


End file.
